Daylight
by No Pain No Gain
Summary: The world has fallen. The undead roam the streets. Even survivors in this lonely world are slowly dying from the inside, and Arthur can't bear to see that happen to his lover. In a bid to stop the decay inside of him, he decides to do something that will save him, no matter what. Tonight, he'll hold him close, but when the daylight comes, he'll have to go. Threeshot. Songfic? USUK.
1. Dusk

**Author's Notes**

**I am trying to keep my muse going, but it's not working. I've written 10k words of another oneshot (FACE family with baby!Arthur) that is not posted yet, but can't seem to finish it. I also began writing an Atlantis!AU (blame Tumblr) but I can't seem to work past the boring introduction chapters to get into the awesome part after Alfred gets to Atlantis. I also have a good idea for a sci-fi fanfic that I'm pretty sure I'm gonna write, but I'm afraid of never finishing that, either. Finally, I'm in for writing a fic about a particular kind of psychological torture (don't judge meh) but I can't find a good enough request on the kink meme to use that idea as a fill. I'll probably write myself a request and fill it hahaha. As for Cardverse... I'm 3000 words into the next chapter, but I can't keep goinnngggg. Help me ;_;**

**But, while waiting for all of this shit to happen, have a two-shot about a zombie!AU. The fic is based on Maroon 5's "Daylight", though you'll see more of the similarities in the second chapter. I really love zombie!AU, can you tell? I roleplay zombie!Hetalia (google "Terrasigma". It's a zombie!Hetalia RP forum :D), I've cosplayed zombiesurvivor!England with my cosplay group, I have an askblog (it's... inactive) for zombiesurvivor!England, and I write for zombie!AUs. Blame AMC's the Walking Dead. **

**In any case, please go ahead and enjoy the first chapter of this two-shot. If you can. Warning for swearing, gore, mentions of suicide, gayness (hooray!) and... all that jazz.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Hetalia, nor "Daylight" because fuckyeah Maroon 5.  
**

**ENJOY!**

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Alfred yelled as blood splattered the ground.

"Jesus Christ, what is your problem?" an angry-sounding voice replied almost immediately, the sound of a gunshot drowning out the last bit. The next second, someone took him by the shoulder, and he let out a smaller shout, turning around the punch the person in the face, only to have his fist caught before it got there. Shaking, he refocused his blurry vision, blinking the frightened tears out of his eyes, and took a deep breath as he kept his eyes trained on the person in front of him.

Who was definitely not dead, unlike the rotting corpse at his feet.

"Are you alright?" the person asked, eyeing him carefully. "You screamed."

"I'm fine, Arthur," Alfred waved him off, catching his breath. "This one got me by surprise and I stepped back on my bad foot and got a bit spooked, so..."

"Alright, if you say you're fine, then we should move on," Arthur licked his lips warily and scouted around them, spotting the limping figures approaching quickly. "We have to regroup with the idiot who got himself lost. He's probably gone to our rendez-vous point already." He threw another glance at Alfred's leg. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I think my ankle is twisted. I can't really put any kind of pressure on it," Alfred winced, nervous gaze darting back to the undead moaning as they came closer. "But I can try. It's better than being eaten."

"You big baby," Arthur huffed, immediately holstering his pistol, and then putting an arm under Alfred's shoulder to support him, even though he was smaller in build. "Come on, quickly."

"Yes, yes, don't get your panties in a knot," Alfred laughed although the timing was not ideal, hobbling along as Arthur led him through the trees.

Conserving energy was imperative, so none of them spoke during the escape through the forest. They could both spot the forms rising out of the shadows of the trees, chasing them as they attempted to make it out alive, but chose not to comment and to avoid them altogether. Their heartbeats were loud enough already, so they did not try to find another source of noise to fill in the lack of speech.

The trees began thinning out after a while, and a small grin touched Alfred's lips. Though he was tired, the thought that they were almost done was encouraging.

"We're almost there," Arthur panted out as if to further that observation, and Alfred let out a breathy chuckle.

"Yeah, we are. Hopefully, our trusty map reader is there, too, so that we can get out of here as soon as possible," he stopped for a moment, thinking, and trying to ignore the pain in his ankle that flashed every time he stepped on it even slightly. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"I don't know," Arthur replied quickly, before he could start stuttering nervously. "I... I don't know. We're supposed to be headed towards a checkpoint somewhere in Canada, some kind of an outpost where they'll be able to send us towards the closest Fortress-City, which happens to be Montreal, which is where you brother lives, right?" he took a moment to catch his breath, exertion showing in his speech. Taking the opportunity to confirm, Alfred nodded his head, picturing that soon enough, he'd be able to see his brother again, sleep in a warm bed, and not have to fight anymore. "I don't know how far we are. We passed the American border yesterday, but we haven't been moving very quickly, either. We got delayed in the forest, too."

"God, I hope we find Francis and get out of here soon," Alfred whimpered as his ankle flared in pain at his misstep. "Arthur, they're catching up," he reminded urgently, glancing back.

"Don't look back. Just keep moving, we're almost there," Arthur snapped back at him, panting heavily as he dragged half of Alfred's considerable weight around.

"Oh god, what if Francis isn't there yet?" Alfred squeaked as another jolt of pain ran up his spine. "Arthur, please."

"Jesus Christ, will you stop your whining for just one second and just-" Arthur let out a frustrated growl. "I'm trying my best! It's either this, or I leave you to be eaten alive by those monsters back there. So shut the fuck up and pray that the frog is waiting for us, or I will drop you and run, I swear."

"Okay, okay, I get it, jeez." Alfred looked a bit whiter than usual. "I'm sorry, then. Gosh, are you always this uptight?"

"You tell me, love," Arthur sighed to blow out the steam, and smirked, putting his gun up and shooting a zombie a few metres away at his side. "It's been over three years since we met."

"Yeah, definitely the crankiest old man on this planet," Alfred sighed out, a bit comforted by Arthur's willingness to joke at a time like this. Wanting to contribute, though using guns in a silent area like this would only attract more trouble, he mimicked Arthur's move and twisted around to shoot one of their pursuers down.

They kept going silently in a straight line, the treetops covering any glimpse at the night sky. Moonlight was not filtering through, either, so they could barely see where they were going. All senses out to check for zombies coming in from the front, they successfully weaved their way out of the maze of trees, into a small plain that led up to a paved road.

"Oh god, yes," Alfred breathed in relief. "Now, for Francis... Where is he?"

"He's probably run ahead already. Probably somewhere in that sea of cars. Let's avoid them and run through the field. Do you think you can do that, or would you rather we attempt to cross into the opposite side? There are practically no cars on the other side of the road, so we should have a clear view on zombies if they come at us."

"We'd also be in the open. I hate to admit it, especially since I'd much rather run on flat ground right now, but if there are any zombies ambling in between those cars, they'd definitely spot us if we ran out on the road. On the other hand, it'd make it easier for Francis to spot us," Alfred analyzed, swearing when the leaves behind them crunched. "Shit, we gotta run, in either case! We've gotta find Francis and get out of here!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Arthur groaned in exasperation, beginning a comfortable jog again, and checking his gun. "I'll probably regret this later, but it's the easier way for him to spot us," he sighed, and then lifted his gun up straight in the air. Alfred only had a second to brace himself before three shots rang out into the open air, obviously signal shots to anybody that might hear them.

"Are you fucking nuts!?" he protested as soon as the dizzying noise ebbed away. "Cool, so every fucking zombie in a thirty mile radius now knows where we are, good fucking job!"

"And so does every bloody Frenchman in a thirty mile radius," Arthur grumbled, holstering his gun. "He should find us any second now. Let's get moving."

Groaning tiredly, Alfred holstered his own gun and concentrated on finding good footing on the upturned soil and high grass, eyes nervously darting to the immobile sea of cars blocking the asphalt road. It looked like plenty of people had been in such a rush to leave Canada and get into the US. As if the US had been in any better shape. They'd just come from there, and compared to the hectic fighting they'd done there, Canada was a breeze. So far. It still didn't make being chased in a forest in the middle of the night any more pleasant.

"Hey, something's coming," Alfred suddenly warned, nudging his chin in the direction they were heading in. Arthur gritted his teeth and squinted, trying to see through the darkness. His free hand went to the holster on his hip, gripping his gun securely. He could see what Alfred was pointing at, and the figure was approaching quickly. Arthur had yet to find a zombie that ran, but he didn't put anything past the monstrous cadavers prowling the streets.

"Identify yourself!" Arthur yelled out, uncaring of the noise he was making. If his three gunshots didn't give them away, he didn't know what would.

"_C'est moi, rosbif_!" came the echoing cry from the figure rushing at them. Arthur was flooded with relief, though he didn't show it, and slowed down as they came to meet the man heading for them.

"Oh, good, you're not dead," Arthur raked an eye across Francis' figure for any injuries and nodded approvingly, hiding how much less worried he was now.

"Good to have you back, Frenchie," Alfred laughed, clapping Francis' shoulder. "Thought we'd lost you out there."

"And I, the same to you. Good thing you were stupid enough to fire those warning shots. Now we'll have a whole mob of undead after us." The Frenchman looked behind them and sighed. "As I thought. Here comes the party."

Arthur and Alfred turned around at the same time, and took a simultaneous sharp breath as they watched the large black mass advancing towards them. There were dozens, if not hundreds of zombies in that crowd. The three humans really had no choice but to run.

"Well then, let's get going! Francis, clear our way, Alfred's hurt so we have to stop somewhere for the night," Arthur growled out, dragging the younger blonde into a limping jog.

"Oh, good, how perfect. There isn't going to be a house for a while. If my map is correct, then the last town we passed was the last one for a while. There are a few farmhouse pit stops around here, so maybe we can bunk in one of those for the night," Francis glanced behind them and bit his lip. "With this crowd following us, though, I doubt we'll be able to avoid a siege, if we stop. Especially if their friends on the highway are joining in as we advance."

"We'll do what we can. Either we try to outrun them as far as possible, and collapse in pain and exhaustion before reaching our target town, or we risk a siege, rest up a little, and bolt as soon as the sun comes up," he then glanced over to Alfred. "How are you doing with the pain? If you can walk, it isn't fractured or splintered, but it might be badly sprained."

"I think that's it. It does hurt lots, and kinda makes me dizzy and nauseous. I can go until we stop, though," Alfred answered with a shaky chuckle that turned into a sharp intake of breath as he stepped on a twig and lurched before Arthur caught him again.

"Francis, we've got to stop," he warned, glaring at the Frenchman who was leading from a few meters in the front, eye out for any incoming zombies from the trees on their right, or from the road, on their left. He periodically glanced down at the ground to look out for zombies crawling in the tall grass, too. "Alfred's ankle needs to get looked at. We aren't even going to go at a target speed of four kilometers an hour at this rate."

"I'm on the lookout for good places, alright? Don't rush me, I want to stop just as much as you do, but you don't see me complaining," Francis huffed loudly, not glancing back.

"I'm sorry," Alfred winced and bit back a cry as his ankle slowly went numb from the repeated abuse. "I didn't mean to slow you down. If... If anything happens, Arthur, I... Y-You can-"

"If you finish that sentence, I really will let the zombies have you," Arthur cut him off, knowing exactly what the younger man was thinking. "I swore, when this apocalypse started, that I would get you alive no matter what. I wouldn't be able to live without you, you stupid dolt. Don't push me, or I might reconsider," he grumbled. "Save your breath. You need it."

"Right," Alfred chuckled breathlessly after a moment of thought, and smiled sadly. "Thanks, Arthur. I... I love you."

Arthur did not reply because he intended to do so only when they finally got somewhere safe and sound. Somewhere where he wouldn't be afraid of having to abandon that wordless promise at a moment's notice.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"Francis, couldn't we have stopped at that farm back there?" Arthur would honestly now take anything they could get. His legs were trembling from supporting Alfred's weight for so long, and his eyes were burning. Only the dreadful moans of the undead behind him motivated him to keep going. Otherwise, he would already have flopped boneless in the grass.

"It's too big. It'd take too long for us to secure it. With a crowd like that, we need to find a small house that is easy to break in, check, and barricade," Francis glanced around. "There should be one around here. In the next kilometer or so."

"Oh god, please hurry the hell up," Arthur groaned, closing his eyes and briefly considering praying to a god he didn't believe in anymore. "I think Alfred's going to faint, and I'm not far behind."

"M'sorry..." Alfred mumbled incoherently in return, disoriented by the pain in his wounded limb.

"Quit your whining, rosbif. Aren't Englishmen supposed to be made of tougher material than this?" Francis huffed indignantly.

"Not when they've got fat ass Americans leaning on them for over an hour," Arthur made a 'tch' noise and shifted Alfred to snap him back into reality.

"M'sorry..." the latter repeated, hitting a pang in Arthur's heart.

"We're almost there, love. Hold on just a little longer," he whispered, worriedly glancing at Alfred's glazed over eyes.

"Over there!" Francis suddenly cried out, pointing to a form in the distance. "That must be one of the residential houses, we can stop there."

"Thank goodness," Arthur sighed out, increasing his pace. "Alfred, just a little more. I can see the house, alright? Stay with me just a little longer."

"Urgh... Hurts..." Alfred mumbled, limping heavily now, even with Arthur's support.

"Do you have our supplies with you still, frog?" Arthur called out to the front.

"I do. We don't have many left, though. Definitely not enough to outlast a siege if we do get stuck in one," Francis answered worriedly, pulling a kitchen knife out of its scabbard on his belt. Arthur caught the glint of the moonlight on the blade, and tensed. A stumbling form was coming down the street, right at them. It definitely was not human anymore.

"Once we get inside, lock the door, and take Alfred. I'll escort you two up the stairs immediately and clear the second floor. I'll return to clear the first floor and barricade the door, then, gather any worthwhile supplies, and destroy the staircase on my way up," he ordered.

"Aye aye, captain," Francis rolled his eyes, aiming as the moonlight exposed the ambling corpse in front of him, and stabbing it straight in the eye before it had time to even grab him. Knife still out, he cleared the way until the front porch, and climbed up first, followed by Arthur and Alfred. Their feet resonated on the hollow wood of the steps, but it was quickly drowned out by the heavy moans and screeches from the large group of zombies that had finally caught up, only about a dozen meters away from them.

"Quick, the door!" Arthur ordered urgently, watching as Francis fumbled with the handle a bit before giving up and smashing his bloody knife through the thin glass of the door. The blonde winced as he reached inside to unlock the door, and pulled his hand out with a few scratches. To compensate, though, the door easily swung open afterwards.

"Get in!" he ushered quickly, leaving the door open for them as he kept an eye on the zombies. Arthur quickly complied, waiting for Francis to step in as well and close the door before gingerly handing his boyfriend to his best friend. Then, pulling out his own knife and handgun, he locked the door and its many chains before quickly nudging the pair forward into the lightless house.

Thankfully, the design of the two-story farm house was not complicated, and he found the staircase quickly. Dragging Alfred up with some difficulty, Francis followed Arthur as they went upstairs, into a hallway lined with a few doors.

Arthur made a motion for Francis to stay where he was until he cleared all the rooms, and headed to the first room, which had an open door already. A quick glance around the room proved that there were no enemies around, and a check of the closet and under the bed gave further evidence to the claim. That room clear, Arthur headed to the next one, with a closed door, and hesitantly knocked on it.

The effect was instant. Both conscious men jumped a little as growling and scratching came at the door, startling them.

"Good god," Arthur huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Watch out for more than one," he advised before lightly twisting the handle, enough to unlatch the door, and then violently kicked it open.

One zombie immediately came ambling out, rotten beyond recognition. It must have been there for a good while already. Behind it followed the corpse of a rotted old woman, which Arthur realized, with a sinking in his heart, was the wife of the man he'd just finished stabbing through the temple. With no mercy, he also stabbed the woman between the eyes and let her drop before proceeding into the room. Further exploration proved that no other zombies were around, not in that one room, or the others, so after carefully making sure that Francis and Alfred would be alright, Arthur escorted them to a room that was mostly bare, probably a room that had yet to be furnished. For a newborn, perhaps.

The realization froze Arthur into place. If the room was indeed destined for a future newborn, then the two old people they'd found in the other room couldn't be the only inhabitants of the household. Arthur groaned. He really hated exploring alone, but he couldn't let Alfred stay alone, either.

"Alright, stay with Al. See if you can do something about his ankle. Maybe scavenge some blankets from the other room while I'm gone? Don't leave him alone, and don't leave the room. Lock the door. I'll knock three times if I want to come in," Arthur instructed.

"I know, rosbif. Be safe. Don't be too long, who knows when these monsters from hell will burst in," Francis gave him a warning glance.

"Don't worry. I have this under control," Arthur nodded, panting. In reality, he really didn't have anything under control, but liked deluding himself.

"I'll be waiting," Francis nodded back to him, and they parted ways. Arthur went back to drag the slain zombies back into their room and close the door, then rushed down the stairs, making as much noise as possible. If he could help it, he'd rather not get caught by surprise.

The tactic worked, and soon, moans echoed from the bowels of the house. Arthur steeled himself and gripped his knife tighter as two zombies turned the corner and looked up at him from the foot of the staircase, moaning loudly. Unwilling to attract much attention, Arthur immediately rushed down and planted a knife through one's head, a lightly pregnant woman, as he'd guessed correctly, and followed with a stab to the other's temple, probably her husband. He then mentally thanked whoever was willing to listen that zombie lacked the coordination to climb stairs, and turned his eyes away from the sad spectacle, feeling nauseous.

Stepping over the now-still corpses, he went around the hallway, sticking to the walls, and using the slight light from the moon, as well as the occasional flickering table lamp, to guide his steps. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking, absolutely terrified, if he were to be honest with himself, but the thought of protecting his boyfriend and best friend was enough to keep him going. Arthur counted his blessings when a rather thorough search proved that no other zombies were prowling the house.

Immediately heading to the kitchen first, he threw open the cupboard, ignoring the fridge as anything inside would definitely have gone bad already, and grabbed the few remaining cans of food at the back. Not bothering to check the expiry date on the dusty cans, he dumped them into his backpack, and then opened all the other cupboards to look for something useful. He counted yet another small blessing when his search led him to find the two remaining water bottles in a pack of eighteen, and he threw those into his bag as well. Moving to a small cabinet on the side, he sighed in relief when he found the medical cabinet, stocked sparsely with regular home supplies of medicine and health care supplies.

Though the search did not yield much, Arthur nonetheless grabbed a couple of band-aids, a bottle of peroxide, sterile compresses, and a compression bandage that would definitely help Alfred. Done with his immediate raid of the sparse supplies, Arthur quickly moved back towards the front of the house, towards the stairs. Usually, farmers kept their tools next to the door, so Arthur briefly searched around for that toolbox in order to find new weapons, and an axe to break the staircase with.

His search finally brought him to what looked like a table, covered by a tablecloth and a lamp, but was more like a crate than anything else. Arthur's hunch proved correct (small blessings, small blessings) as he opened the creaking toolbox to remove a rusted crowbar. Browsing through the many different tools, he also pulled out an axe in a sheath and unsheathed it satisfactorily.

His moment of glory was short lived, though. Arthur barely bit back a cry as a hand suddenly hit the glass of the door, right next to the hole Francis had made. Willing his heart to still, Arthur suppressed the terror invading his senses and quickly looked around for anything else he could use. His eyes landed on a retractable aluminum ladder behind the toolbox, and he knew they'd need it after he took care of the staircase. It was worth the effort.

Pushing his screaming muscles, Arthur heaved the rusty ladder away from the wall, and was glad to realize that it wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be. Probably the aluminum, he figured, but did not dwell on it. The noise he'd made had confirmed to the zombies that something was inside the house, and they were now fighting and growling even louder in order to get inside.

Letting out groans and breaths in exertion, Arthur walked over the two corpses at the foot of the stairs and heaved the ladder up, practically throwing it onto the second floor and crawling up behind it. He let himself catch his breath for exactly thirteen seconds before dropping everything but the axe, and working on destroying the stairs.

Arthur let out small grunts and whimpers of exhaustion as he ceaselessly brought the axe down on the stairs, breaking them one by one without touching the support so that he wouldn't fall with it. Typical of farm houses, the staircase was hollow, only steps secured to a support leading upstairs, which made Arthur's job a lot easier. Thanking small blessings one last time, Arthur finished breaking the last stair, and retreated onto the safety of the second floor. There was no way back down into the dark, gaping hole that the first floor looked like, unless they used that rusty ladder lying next to him.

Picking up his things, Arthur noisily dragged the ladder across the floor, not having the energy to carry it anymore. He could have fallen into Francis' arms as he opened the door following his knocks, had he been less of a man.

"There was a lot of noise out there. What did you do?" Francis asked as he let him in and locked the door again.

"I scavenged for some things. Killed the zombies downstairs. Dragged this thing up here. Broke the stairs." Arthur dropped to the ground next to Alfred, absolutely drained. "How's he doing?"

"He fainted. I can't really tell just by the looks, but I'd say he has an ankle sprain, maybe of second level. It really got worse because of all the walking he did. I just wish I had ice to reduce some of the swelling."

"Wasn't going to be any downstairs, anyway. No electricity, and all that jazz," Arthur moaned in pleasure as he let himself roll onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm. "Oh god, I am dead."

"Be careful, or I might have to shoot you if you keep making such outrageous claims," Francis chuckled, sitting next to him and opening his pack to check what he'd found. "The water's definitely gold. Alfred will need plenty of it. With the one bottle we've got left, that leaves us each a bottle to survive on until we reach the next town." The circumstances looked bleak, but at least they'd last (see: suffer) longer before dying.

"Got bandages, too. See if you can do somethin' with 'em," Arthur gruffly answered, not moving.

"It's perfect. I'll bandage him, so you go to sleep." Arthur heard Francis getting up, and a second later, something heavy and musty was thrown onto him. A blanket, Arthur realized. "Take it. I'll finish up here."

"Wake me up... when it's my turn to keep watch..." Arthur yawned heavily.

"Arthur, you just destroyed the fucking staircase. Nothing it going to get us for now, human or otherwise," Francis chuckled, patting his best friend's arm. "Go to sleep, god knows you need it."

"There ain't no god, 'specially if we all wake up dead tomorrow cause you were bein' an idiot..." Arthur's accent got heavier as he spiraled into blissful sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was way too tired to argue, anyway. He trusted Francis to keep them alive. He trusted all three of them to stay alive.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Arthur woke on his own in the morning, neck aching from the uncomfortable sleeping position he'd picked. Rolling his shoulders with a groan, he pushed himself up into sitting position, his senses slowly returning to him. The first thing he noticed was the bright daylight filtering through the sole window of the room, and the second thing was more blood-chilling. It was the sound of a mass assembly of undead pounding on the walls from the outside of the house, and scratching at the walls on the inside of the house, right below where they peacefully slept.

"They broke in last night." The familiar voice startled Arthur, and he jumped a little, bringing his hand to the gun on his hip instinctively. Following the voice, though, he relaxed, as it was only Francis, who was separating the contents of a can of Lima beans into three bowls that they carried around as their mess kits.

"Great, do we owe them breakfast, too?" he grumbled in response, rubbing his head.

"I'd hope not. I don't think they'd exactly appreciate beans," Francis had a soft smile on his face, despite the circumstances. Arthur envied him for being able to relax so easily. Maybe he'd convince him to teach him yoga. They had time. They weren't going to move for a while.

"I don't appreciate beans, either. Didn't we have something else?" Arthur complained without much conviction, taking the bowl and plastic spoon that was handed to him.

"I wouldn't have fed you two beans and only beans for the past four days if that were the case. We have some canned peas and corn, but I was thinking of saving those as celebration if we ever make it out of here alive," Francis seemed to find this funny, and knelt down next to Arthur to eat.

"See now, if I have to die here, I'd rather die with my stomach containing something else than beans. Let's have corn tonight," Arthur huffed, nonetheless eating his food without further complaint. Anything was nourishment right now, and anything would keep them going.

"Of course, chéri," Francis hummed, shrugging dismissively and spooning some beans in his mouth. Arthur's eyes went to the small band-aids littering his fingers and forearm, and guilt rose up in his throat as he realized that they were from yesterday's punch through the glass. He'd brought those band-aids from the medical cabinet, so that meant that Francis had had to take care of himself once Arthur selfishly fell asleep.

"Does that, uhh... hurt?" he asked quietly, nudging his head at Francis' arm and turning his gaze away in embarrassment.

"_Quoi?_" Francis furrowed his brows, following his previous line of sight to the inflamed skin on his arms, and laughed. "This? This is nothing, rosbif. Literally just scratches."

"Good," Arthur grumbled, returning to his food adamantly.

"It's nice of you to be worried," his best friend smiled.

"I wasn't worried, don't get any ideas." Ignoring the knowing look in the Frenchman's eyes, Arthur concentrated on swallowing his bland breakfast as quickly as possible.

"Of course you weren't." Francis' eyes glimpsed into Arthur's, and he laid back as he realized what the problem was. "Oh, I see."

"What do you think you see?" Arthur bristled.

"It's alright, Arthur," Francis chuckled, genuinely amused. "They were just scratches. I didn't really need help for them."

Arthur did not reply, trying to dispel the blush on his face. Once again, Francis had hit the nail on the head. Still, it shouldn't have surprised him, coming from the man who'd been his best friend, and probably his only friend, since that moment in grade school, back in Europe, where he'd tried to grow his hair out to be like the popular kids, but had only succeeded in making himself look ridiculous. Francis had rather nicely groomed it for him later, and though Arthur had sworn viciously for a 6 year old, they'd remained friends and had gone everywhere together. Including America to go to university. Including a farm house in the middle of nowhere as they clung onto the hope that life still existed for them somewhere.

"Whatever. Gentlemen only sleep once everyone else is asleep," he finally replied, still not daring to look into Francis' eyes. Again, Francis just laughed.

"What are you, sixty? Loosen up a little, _mon petit lapin_, you are only twenty-six. Don't start being such a stick in the mud so early in your life."

"And you should stop being such a damn frog, you stinky Frenchman," Arthur grumbled, though he could not stay serious for long. Sometimes, it felt like neither of them had grown up at all.

"If you say so," Francis shrugged, and shoveled some beans into his mouth. "How about you wake up your lover boy and hand him breakfast? He's going to need plenty of nourishment and rest to heal that ankle up."

Guiltily, Arthur turned around, glancing at Alfred for the first time since he woke up. He was lying in a blanket against the wall, boots and socks off his feet. His injured foot was wrapped in an elastic bandage and was set in a loop made of a blanket that was secured to a nail on the wall, elevating it above his heart level so that blood would flow away from his injury. His face was streaked with dirt and looked sticky with sweat, but his expression was peaceful as he slept.

Crawling over, Arthur sat down next to him, gazing at his face a little longer before combing his hands through his hair gently.

"Wake up, poppet." He didn't want to wake him up, but he at least wanted to get him to swallow his share of the food before he was tempted to eat it himself. No matter how much he complained, a third of a can of beans was still much better than nothing at all. "Come on, rise and shine," he grunted, shoving his shoulder lightly.

Though Alfred shot up straight, completely awake in a second, Arthur couldn't help but feel depression smothering his senses as he remember how heavy of a sleeper Alfred used to be. To be on edge enough to dart awake at the smallest threatening contact... The apocalypse sure had changed them, in subtle, but important ways.

"Good morning. Breakfast?" Arthur offered, clearing his head and handing his boyfriend the bowl on the ground and the spoon with it.

"Huh," Alfred yawned, stretched, and then turned his eyes down. They dimmed a little at the sight of the small portion of beans, and the look tugged at Arthur's heartstrings. "Beans again?" As soon as it came, the glazed over expression was gone, and Alfred was back, accepting the bowl gratefully. "You really need to work that imagination, Frenchie."

"Maybe once we make it to a safe place and settle down for good, I'll treat you to a nice French restaurant. Then, you'll taste the wondrous cuisine of the French," Francis made an extravagant move with his hand and smiled brightly.

"Sit your arse back down and stop being so obnoxious. I bet our kindly neighbours downstairs can _smell _the obnoxious rolling off of you," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Speaking of which," Alfred interrupted with a loud chewing noise, to which Arthur reacted with a horrified grimace. "How are we doin'?"

"Not good." Arthur eyed his distasteful table manners again, and then turned his gaze away. "First floor is completely overrun, by the sound of it. Not sure about our surroundings."

"I'll go scout around a bit," Alfred offered, shoveling the last beans into his mouth and grimacing in disgust.

"Definitely not," Arthur stopped him by putting a hand on his chest. "We are not going to step out of this room, or anywhere near that window, until night has at least fallen. The last thing we want to do is give them a reason to camp out around here."

"Eh," Alfred shrugged noncommittally. "I don't think they'd leave either way."

"Let's not limit our options, now," Francis cut in before Arthur could reply. "We'll stay here until tonight. Then, we'll see what happens."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"This doesn't look good," Alfred reported later that night, peering out of the window carefully. Since they had no source of light inside the room, it would be impossible for the zombies to notice them with their rotten eyes since there was no contrast at all with the night sky.

But Alfred could see everything, and he didn't like what he saw at all.

"They are by the hundreds, I swear," he gulped down, looking down at the squirming mass with unease. "They've completely covered this side of the house. I'll go see in other rooms, check if they've left any side of this building unprotected." He then nodded at the two Europeans and checked his weapons before opening the door. The heart-stopping sound of moans from downstairs intensified for a moment and Arthur let out the breath he was holding when the door closed again. Francis rushed over to lock it and then returned by Arthur's side.

"I like to think that we'll make it out of here, so how about we discussed our path after this stop?" he suggested, pulling out his map.

"Sure." Though he wasn't very optimistic about their situation, Arthur scooted over as Francis straightened out the large map on the floor. He immediately spotted Boston, where they'd started their journey a few months ago, and followed the trail of notes that Francis ha scribbled on the paths they'd taken. There were big circles around the place where they'd stayed for a while, foolishly attempting to outwait the apocalypse. If they hadn't been such idiots, maybe they could have cut plenty of time off of their excursion and have made it to the nearest checkpoint town quicker.

"So. Where are we headed next?" Arthur asked, spotting the circle around the checkpoint town they were headed to.

"We're going here," Francis pointed at the circle as if to confirm Arthur's guess. "This used to be a city called _Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu_, and now it's more or less a military outpost. If we reach it, I'm sure we can receive help. Perhaps a ride to Montreal. If not, we'll probably be given ammunition and supplies."

"They had better give us a ride. We've been on the run for months now, they can't make us run even longer," Arthur rubbed his forehead tiredly. "I don't know how much longer I can do this," he glanced at the door, as if expecting Alfred to be there to hear what he was about to admit. "I'm tired of being afraid every second of the day. Not just for me, but for you and... For Alfred."

"That's to be expected," Francis shrugged, looking at the map blankly.

"No, I mean..." Arthur licked his cracked lips. "I am tired of not being able to let him out of my sight in clear conscience. More than that, I hate seeing worry in his eyes all the time. I hate seeing him afraid, depressed, so exhausted by everything," he rubbed his eyes. "He's only twenty-three, he doesn't have to bear burdens this heavy on his shoulders."

"But we all do. None of us are soldiers trained to fight, and none of us are war-hardened civilians. We're just people. We improvise to survive, and though we still live and breathe, some part of all of us has already died," Francis explained, looking somber.

"I know, but..." Arthur threw another look at the door, heart thumping madly. "I love him, and I'd do anything to make him happy. I am... afraid. Afraid that one day, I'll wake up and he won't be there anymore. I can't be sure of anything anymore. I just want him, us, all of us, to be safe, no matter what."

"Well then, instead of telling me about it, why don't you tell him?" Francis' question hung unanswered in the air for a minute or so. Then, as if having predicted it, three knocks came at the door.

Both Europeans darted up, Francis, to go open the door, and Arthur... because he didn't know why his body ordered him to.

Throwing him a querying look, Francis waited a second for a response, then got up to answer the door. Quietly, Arthur followed along, lost in his own thoughts.

"Hey," Alfred greeted a bit somberly as soon as Francis let him in. "It doesn't look like we're going anywhere any time soon. All sides are taken, though maybe if we wait a little, the back of the house will clear up and we can go through a window or someth- hey!"

Alfred did not finish his sentence, instead finding himself tackled by a smaller figure, who threw his arms around his chest and bent his arms to grasp his shoulders tightly from behind. Using the nearby wall to steady his injured leg, Alfred blinked in surprise, but then smiled at the mop of blond hair shoved in his face.

"Gee, Artie, what's this all of a sudden?" he laughed after he regained his footing. Since Arthur did not answer and merely buried his face in the crook of his neck, Alfred kissed the top of his head, smile brighter than it had been in weeks, and put his arms around Arthur as well. Leaning his cheek on his head, Alfred breathed deep and closed his eyes, immobile.

From the side, Francis smiled sadly at their quiet embrace, and then moved on back to the map to continue planning. Maybe love would preserve their humanity in times of war, but they had to get out of there soon, lest there be no more humanity to preserve.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

The night had been uneventful, and Arthur had to admit that he was a bit disappointed. They'd merely gone to sleep amongst the moans of the undead filtering in through every corner of their temporary haven, trying to filter out the real world and escaping into an illusion of safety. As their wordless agreement had dictated ever since they got thrown into this mess together, they'd slept stuck to one another to conserve body heat. As they often did, they switched positions in order to adapt to their situation, so Alfred ended up in the middle, Francis and Arthur curling up on either side and weapons not far, just in case there was a break in and they had to protect Alfred, who was the most vulnerable in this situation. Alfred grumbled a bit at the decision, but admitted that he could not do much fighting if he couldn't keep his balance without using a wall as support.

The morning brought in sunshine through the window, despair when they realized that the zombies had not budged an inch, and a can of sweet corn split into three for breakfast. After breakfast came the typical routine maintenance of their firearms, when all three of them sat down, and took apart their guns as fast as possible, took their time cleaning and oiling them, and then put them together again as quickly as possible. Ammunition inventory followed, as Alfred emptied the bags and counted how much ammo they still had for each gun with Francis' help, and the number of which Arthur noted grimly on a corner of their map where a bunch of other numbers had been scratched out.

They all pointedly ignored supply inventory, as nobody needed to be reminded of how they had the equivalent of a comfortable day's worth of food and water to last them until they got to their target town.

Even though they needed to conserve their energy desperately, Arthur insisted that they have at least some minimal physical training, not only to keep in shape, but also to pass the time and divert their attention from the howling crowd below. Then again, push-ups and stretching only took them so much time, and before they knew it, they were all out of ideas about what to do. All they could really do was lie down and listen to the hungry moans around them.

The most dangerous game had begun.

"I am going to go crazy," Alfred suddenly announced in the middle of one of his ankle exercises. Francis and Arthur immediately snapped their heads up at him and threw him a worried, but suspicious glance.

"How so?" Arthur asked slowly, raking his eyes across his boyfriend's tense form.

"I dunno, I just," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I had my Ipod or something. These guys are driving me nuts with their constant complaining."

"Bear in mind that you are also complaining." Arthur pointed out, eyes still narrowed.

"But I'm not howling the fuck out of my rotten lungs, now, am I?" Alfred grunted, pushing himself up with a little bit of trouble and beginning to pace around the room. Having a high tolerance to pain, his ankle did not bother him so much, but it still kept him from doing anything else than hobble around in a slightly pathetic fashion.

"Alfred, get away from the window," Francis warned, and then sighed tiredly. "Zombies not only force us into physical warfare, but psychological warfare, too. Don't let them get the best of you."

"Love, lie down, get some sleep-" Arthur had not even finished his sentence before he was violently cut off by Alfred as he punched the wall in rage. Suddenly on high alert, Arthur's hand instinctively went to the knife in his boot before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away in disgust.

"I'm done lying down!" Alfred protested loudly, too loudly for anybody's comfort.

"Alfred, don't yell," Francis warned again, getting off the floor and approaching his best friend's lover. To his shock, and slight horror, Alfred lashed out at him, stepping back as if _he_ were the enemy all of a sudden.

"Alfred, stop." It was now Arthur's turn to get up to try to approach his boyfriend, who backed up into a corner, almost as if feeling threatened.

"No, Arthur, you stop." Alfred bared his teeth at him, and Arthur noticed how animalistic the gesture was. "I'm so tired of you babying me."

"I-I don't-"

"Stop denying it!" Alfred shouted, freezing Arthur in place. "You're always treating me like I can't do a thing! It's been like this since the beginning. Oh, Alfred, stay here and wait until I come back. Oh, Alfred, don't get involved in this fight. Oh, Alfred, I'll take care of this, don't worry. Oh, Alfred, get the fuck out of my way, stop fucking bothering me!"

"Alfred, please calm down," Arthur's eyes were wide in horror. "That isn't true, I just-"

"You just what, Arthur? Do you feel powerful when you try to take care of everything by yourself? Or maybe it's a thrill to keep me in the dark and gossip about everything with your best friend. I thought I was your best friend, too, but you don't seem like you consider me as an equal," Alfred sneered.

"I do, I swear to heaven and back that I do consider you my equal, my best friend, even more than a best friend, and that is exactly why I don't want to involve you!" It was now Arthur's turn to raise his voice. Francis' warning glare was disregarded.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Bloody hell, Alfred, why won't you understand? I love you! I love you so fucking much that I just want you to be safe! I tried to protect you, I'm still trying to shield you from everything that's out there, so why won't you let me!?" Arthur's frustrated question hung unanswered in the air, as he was left panting in exertion and emotion. When Alfred did not reply, he took it as a sign to keep going. "I'll do anything to save you," he trailed off, and his eyes turned to the ground, suddenly embarrassed. "I'll take on any pain in the world to keep you alive and well. I don't want you to live like you're dying already," his voice had gone down to a scratchy plea. "Please... I'm just trying to keep you safe no matter what."

Alfred had the tact to keep quiet and think about Arthur's words, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Still, his stubbornness did not allow him to give in, and he stepped forward. Francis and Arthur immediately parted to let him pass, then tensed visibly when Alfred went over and picked up his gun.

"You're doing it wrong, then," he answered calmly, scarily so for someone who had been punching walls minutes ago. "You're smothering me. You're trying to keep me alive, but I'm dying anyway." He picked up his water bottle, and holstered his gun. "I'm going next door. Don't bother me."

Nobody stopped him as he walked out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him. Both blondes just stood in their places, trying to relax their breathing and comprehend what had just transpired. Finally, it was Arthur that moved first, to go to the corner where the blankets were still strewn around.

"Arthur..." Francis tried, walking after him, but stopped when Arthur stopped as well and turned to face him. Guilt and fear were imprinted visibly in his expression. Francis' heart skipped a beat.

"I don't want to talk," Arthur shook his head quietly, and then turned back around to continue to the corner. Francis watched as he gingerly laid down, as if under some kind of shock that affected his control of his movements, and then pulled a blanket over his head.

At this point, he knew there was nothing left to do. Retreating to the opposite corner, Francis browsed around for their sewing kit and made himself busy with repairing some ripped clothes. Anything to get his mind off the madness that all of them were slowly spiraling into.

Their first day under siege did not go too well, in that sense. Darkness fell, and Alfred still had not come back. Arthur had only gotten up from his nest of blankets to drink a gulp of water and peer outside the window before returning to his corner. Francis, unnerved by his companions' actions, had quietly sat in a corner, trying to find something to do to distract himself from the moans coming from downstairs. In a way, he understood what Alfred was going through. The incessant noise permeating the walls was a deadly form of warfare, as he'd stated before, and none of them were immune. Only strong will could fight back the screeches of the undead.

It was all that they could hear for a few very long hours, that seemed like an eternity. Francis and Arthur had almost succeeded in staying still and filtering out the monotone sound. And then, a gunshot broke the silence.

Both men's eyes snapped open immediately, the two jumping to their feet and pulling out their guns on reflex.

"That was a gun," Arthur stated, nervousness welling up inside of him. "There's only one other person in this house with a gun." Realization, which he had tried to push back, dawned on him, and both of them were running for the door in a matter of seconds.

Francis fumbled with the door lock and threw it open, Arthur quickly following without bothering to close the door again. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but that gunshot.

"Alfred?" he called out fearfully, looking around the hallway.

Even in the inky darkness, he could notice which doors were closed and which were open, and there was only one that was previously open that was now closed. Heart beating wildly, his footsteps thundered uncaring of the noise he was making, and he skidded to a stop in front of the room Alfred had locked himself in.

"Alfred, open the door!" he demanded in a trembling voice. Nobody answered. Panic was quickly overtaking his senses, and he fumbled with the doorknob, which did not budge. "Alfred, open the fucking door, or god help me I'll kill you!" _If he wasn't dead already._

"A-Arthur, calm down, let me try and pick the lock," Francis stammered, putting a hand on his distraught friend's shoulder. It was immediately pushed off as Arthur pounded on the door frantically in one last bid to get inside.

"Alfred Fucking Jones, you open the bloody door right now!" he practically screeched, and when nobody answered yet again, he lost it.

Taking a step back, he clicked the safety off his gun, and aimed at the knob. Francis only had a second to plug his fingers into his ears before the second gunshot went off, breaking the lock entirely. Arthur kicked the door down in the following second and ran into the room practically hyperventilating.

Alfred was lying on the ground, propped against a wall, blood pooling at his feet.

In front of him laid a freshly slain corpse.

"Oh god." Arthur's breath exited his body in a second and he cupped his face so that the sob welling up in his throat would not escape. His voice had a higher pitch as panic slowly did one last lap through his system, and then filtered out. When he felt that he was collected enough, he approached Alfred, who had pulled his legs away from the blood, and controlled himself long enough to slowly kneel next to him.

Alfred was shaking, eyes wide and glazed over. It looked like he was still in some kind of shock, which tore at Arthur's heartstrings. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the flecks of blood and tissue dotting his face, and the lax grip on his gun, which had a barrel tainted with blood.

"Are you alright?" Arthur finally asked, gently taking Alfred's gun from him and sliding it across the floor. Francis went over to retrieve it and watched the scene unfold as his heartbeat lowered back to normal. "Alfred, damn it, will you please say something?" he pleaded, taking his hands into his grip and kissing his knuckles nervously. "Alfred, love, please, are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?"

Alfred waited a moment, and then finally blinked, breathing deeply and then letting out a shuddering sigh.

"T-That was... unexpected," he stammered out, turning his panicked gaze to his boyfriend. "A-Arthur?"

"Are you alright?" Arthur repeated, brushing his thumbs over Alfred cheeks to rid him of the specks of blood. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Just kinda shaken," Alfred shook his head, ridding himself of Arthur's inquisitive fingers. "Really. Nothing happened."

"This isn't nothing," Arthur gritted his teeth and grabbed Alfred's hands a bit more tightly than he would have liked. "What happened?"

"I just opened the closet door to see if there were games or something that I could play to pass the time, and this little girl just lunges at me without warning. I guess I just panicked and dropped my gun and by the time I picked it up, she was really close. I backed up into the wall, she got into my face, and I shot her through the mouth before she bit my nose off," he rubbed his arms up and down, a chill going through him.

"Good god..." Arthur blanched. "I knew I shouldn't have skipped over the closet. I was tired and wanted to get it done, and I made a mistake. It almost got you killed. Oh god, I almost got you killed," his voice trembled as he spoke, emotion welling up into him.

"But I didn't die. I'm fine, Arthur. Look at me." Alfred steadied his boyfriend and looked at his face. Arthur turned his eyes away, but Alfred's grip on his hands was strong. "I'm okay, Arthur. I'm okay."

"But I'm not," Arthur replied without a moment of hesitation.

Everybody stopped breathing for a second, and Arthur finally turned his eyes up. Alfred noticed that they were red and full of tears. Desperate. Guilty. Scared. The look tugged at his heartstrings and made him nauseous.

"I'm not okay," Arthur's bottom lip quivered, and he hesitated a second before smoothly sliding into Alfred's arms, locking his arms around his neck. "Y-You scared me. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack with that gunshot. A-And you wouldn't open the door. And you told us you had gotten so tired of being chased like this..." Arthur let out a strangled sob as he valiantly fought his tears back. "I-I thought y-you... I thought..."

"I would never," Alfred promised him, heart beating wildly as he circled Arthur's waist with his arms and dragged him closer. Just as much as Arthur was afraid of such an idea, Alfred was afraid of giving Arthur ideas. He was afraid of giving _himself_ ideas. "Arthur, please believe me, I-I would never-"

"I'm sorry, alright?" Arthur bit his lip, but found that he could not continue if he didn't relieve the pressure on his eyes. So he did. His resolve crumbled as he let his tears fall and drip off his face. "I'm just so scared, and I don't want you to be, too."

"You scare me more by behaving that way," Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, and he listened to Arthur's soft, hitching breath laced with sobs, just long enough to have his own tears roll down his cheeks. "And I'm sorry, too. I am so sorry. For everything." He caressed Arthur's hair comfortingly, his eyes briefly falling upon the corpse at his feet, and then at the beautiful man in his arms. Fresh tears sprang out of his eyes. "But we're fine, Arthur. We're fine. We're okay."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Arthur could not sleep. After having re-checked every nook and cranny of the second floor rooms, they'd all returned to their safe room to tensely share a can of beans and calm down after such an eventful evening. Arthur dared not let go of Alfred's hand during the entire time. Shameful as he felt, he needed his boyfriend like a security blanket to shield him against his insecurities, and Alfred did not seem to mind. A gulp of water for each of them topped off their night, and they'd soon curled up in their usual position, with Alfred still in the middle. This time, Arthur had curled close, almost stuck to Alfred's waist and had sought refuge in his arms.

And yet it was not enough to guarantee him a good night's sleep. It couldn't even get him any kind of sleep. Horrific images plagued him every single time he closed his eyes. He couldn't do this anymore. Hours passed before he attempted to do something about it.

"Francis?" he called in the dead of the night, when the moans of the undead were at their highest. "Are you still up?"

"Barely," came a mumbled groan after a second.

"Alfred, you?" he asked nervously, and listened closely for any response. He got none. And yet, he was strangely relieved when his boyfriend remained silent.

"You can't sleep?" Francis yawned, clothes rustling in the dark as he moved a little to accommodate himself.

"Not really," Arthur mumbled, and left it at that for a moment, before adding onto it. "I'm scared."

"For Alfred?" Francis guessed.

"... Of Alfred," Arthur admitted, and his throat locked up.

"What?" Surprise was evident in his best friend's voice. "What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that he's going crazy, but... He's losing it." Arthur bit his lip. "He's always been afraid of horror movies, horror games, hell, pretty much anything that's relative to a nightmare, and suddenly, he's thrown into a nightmare itself and expected to survive and stay sane." Arthur's gulped down with a bit of trouble. "He can't stay like this anymore. He's cracking. I don't know when he's going to break, but it's coming. And I'm terrified of seeing him like that." His arms tightened around his boyfriend, who mumbled in his sleep. Arthur stood still until Alfred had drifted back off. "I couldn't bear to see him go crazy because of this bloody apocalypse. I don't know what to do."

Francis did not reply at first. Arthur was suddenly afraid that he'd just drifted off to sleep while he was talking. He didn't want to be alone. But then, Francis sighed, and Arthur's tense muscles relaxed.

"Sounds like you're going crazy, too." Arthur couldn't help but give a bitter smile in response. He acknowledged the truth of this statement. He was going crazy mad with worry for the people he cared about. He was strong enough to resist the undead. He was not strong enough to resist his loved ones, though. If either of them ever became one of those monsters, Arthur was not sure he'd be able to shoot them.

"What do I do?" Arthur whispered back, heart clenching. "Francis, what do I do?"

"You calm down, first of all. We're safe here for the moment. Never mind the fact that the whole province knows that we're here after all the ruckus you caused," Francis rolled his eyes.

"In that case, maybe people will come and help us," Arthur chuckled, though the idea just made his heart sink lower. It wouldn't happen.

"Keep telling yourself that, _chéri_," Francis chuckled humourlessly. "Perhaps we'll have to last longer now, but... we'll last. We just have to wait."

"We're going to die of thirst before we get out of here."

"Don't be that way. I thought you wanted to save your lover boy no matter what. You aren't helping by being so negative. Negativity will keep your eyes shut in front of every opportunity," the Frenchman rolled his eyes. "Come on, Arthur. I know you. You're a lot stronger than this. You'll survive, we'll survive, and we'll all get out alive, no matter what."

Arthur did not reply, too conflicted to say anything pertinent. Instead, he lost himself in his own thoughts, eyes glazed over. He was willing to last it out, but would Alfred be alright? And Francis? He always looked so calm and collected, but Arthur hadn't nearly been paying enough attention to him lately. What if he was hurting, too? Arthur didn't know what to do anymore. He just knew that they wouldn't make it if they stayed here. They'd die if they stayed here, whether their bodies began to rot, or their souls were pulled out of their living bodies. He didn't know which one was worse. But they had to get out no matter what.

Daylight had begun to peek in through the window. Another day had begun, another waking moment filled with nightmares that were not limited to imagination anymore. Arthur stared out of the window for a second, to the light slowly gracing Alfred's youthful face, worried expression stuck on his face even in his sleep. He bit his lip, a plan slowly dawning inside his brain as the sun dawned upon the horror-stricken world. The remnants of tears stuck to Alfred's eyelashes only served to consolidate the dangerous, and probably suicidal ideas that were popping into his brain and aligning themselves into a logical order. As logical as suicide could get.

"No matter what," he repeated, and closed his eyes as daylight streaked upon his face.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**If you listen to Daylight, you'll... probably guess what's gonna happen next. See if you can figure it out. And try your luck in a review :D**

**I actually typed over 75% of this chapter on my Ipod. While taking the metro. So there might be spelling mistakes I haven't caught during proofread. If so, please signal them, I'm super anal about spelling. **

**PLOT: So this is a human!AU where Alfred and Arthur are lovers, Francis is Arthur's childhood best friend, and the entire world is in disarray because zombies. The three are trying to get to Montreal, which is one of the few safe places in North America. It is also where Alfred's brother, Matthew, lives, and can house them. A lot of military outposts have been created in smaller towns, and the international armies are working together to eradicate this threat and round up survivors to repopulate afterwards. **

**LOCATIONS: It takes place around the Quebec-Vermont border, and specifically, the town that they mention having passed it Saint-Alexandre. Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu is also a real town. All the places here are real xD Even the house they bunk in and the farms that they ignore are real. Check Google Street view. Anyway. They began their trek in Boston, had pit stops all the way up to Canada, passed Saint-Alexandre and are now 8 hours' walk away from Saint-Jean. There, they can meet up with military personnel from the outpost, and have a ride to Montreal (called a Fortress-City). I picked Montreal because it's an island, completely isolated from the mainland, so it's obviously a great choice of a safe spot since all the bridges and tunnels can be put under surveillance. And not just because I live there hahaha. At least the geography will be right?**

**Anyway. That's that. Stay tuned for the second chapter soon. And please please please review because I love youh! :D**


	2. Midnight

**Author's Notes**

**Again, most of the chapter was typed on the Ipod, so signal me some typoes plz~**

**Thank you so much everybody for your encouraging reviews ;w; You have no idea how motivating they are and how much they mean to me. Big hand of applause to Hetalia Rin, crazyanimelover98, XxTigerleo14xX, , bobness and SamuraiSal1 for being the main people responsible for the update ;w; You guys are too nice.**

**Also, see if you can spot the lyrics for "Daylight" in the text! A lot of them are unaltered and you'll probably find them :D**

**Warnings are for swearing, mentions of suicide, violence, and sexual situations. **

**Please enjoy =w=**

* * *

Alfred was surprised when he found that he was the first one awake. Light was filtering through the windows and illuminating a patch of wood in front of it. The entire room, bare as it was, seemed to come back to life when daylight broke out.

Stretching, the young man yawned, and looked down next to him. His two older companions were still visibly asleep, and though it was slightly disconcerting to see them doing such a thing, Alfred let them be. The bags under their eyes proved that they needed the sleep they were getting. The second thing that Alfred noticed was how tightly Arthur had wrapped his arms around his middle, but understood the reason perfectly.

He'd had a moment of weakness the other night. A moment of confusion, too. Just like everyone else, Alfred had no idea what to do. Every waking moment was a nightmare to him. He was terrified of zombies, terrified of going out, terrified of dying alone, and terrified of losing those he cared about. He used to say that he'd be ready for the zombie apocalypse, believing in those ideal fantasies of invincible heroes... But it hadn't been the same since he'd come home to find his mom eating his dad's intestines as his father slowly and painfully faded away.

Since then, Alfred had been absolutely mortified of anything even remotely dead, and was sure that even when the apocalypse blew over, he wouldn't be able to visit graveyards. He'd send Matthew to set flowers in front of their parents' graves, but he'd never be able to go.

That is, if Matthew was still alive at all.

Alfred could not be sure of anything anymore.

He turned his eyes to the handgun on the floor behind Francis and his mind began conjuring images. Some of them were pain. Others were safety. Others, the scariest, showed him sweet relief. Alfred guiltily turned his gaze over to Arthur's sleeping face, and found another kind of relief in the serene sight of his peaceful soulmate.

Soulmate. Yes, he was sure. Arthur had been around for way too long and had poked his head into too many of his affairs to be able to draw out now. He was the one that Alfred had been looking for so long. He was perfection, and Alfred swore to himself that if -no, when- they got out alive, he would marry him and make himself the happiest man on Earth. And Arthur, too, hopefully, so that he would smile this serenely more often.

Not only did he have the cutest expressions ever, but his accent was to die for, and he had the nicest body Alfred had ever seen. Far beyond the realm of the physical, though, Arthur had a way with words, the ability to twist and bend them at his will to be able to express anything at all. He was witty and his arguing was always fast-paced enough to make Alfred desire more and more of their train of conversation. He got so embarrassed about everything and Alfred thought it was super cute when he tried to hide how excited or happy he was about something.

And then there were the intimate smiles, the soft kisses, the ghosting touch of his fingers on his skin and the humming that Arthur did when he wanted to calm Alfred down after a horror movie. Alfred loved Arthur's voice, whether he used it to scream, yell, whisper, mutter, moan, laugh, argue, or just simply say 'hello'.

He suddenly wished that Arthur were awake and would hum to him to drown the sound of the groaning zombies downstairs.

Instead of disturbing his lover's sleep, though, he stood still and closed his eyes again, knowing that it did not take much to wake him up nowadays. The more time that passed, the better. He would go crazy if he listened to the clock tick. To avoid such an outcome, he closed his eyes and dared to pull Arthur a little closer. Francis' back was also stuck to his, on the other side, but he let himself and Arthur float off into a world where they'd hold each other close and never let go.

The next time he awoke, he noticed that Francis was awake and bustling already, looking through their supplies.

"What's up?" Alfred groggily grumbled, carefully peeling Arthur's arms from around him and letting him lay back down. He held his breath for a second, but Arthur really had become a scarily light sleeper and woke a second after Alfred let go, sleep still clouding his eyes.

"I'm looking for something appropriate for breakfast, and I'm going to go around again to see if I can find any kind of entertainment. I think we could do with some distraction," Francis smiled and picked out a can of peas.

"Sweet! Not-beans!" Alfred cheered in good humour and patted Arthur's cheek before getting up and going over to Francis. "What's the plan today, then?"

"We have to wait for night to fall before we can scout around, though I'm not very optimistic since yesterday's events made a great load of noise. They're probably eating each other in their haste to get upstairs," Francis shrugged. "Not like they'll even be able to reach the landing, thanks to Eyebrows."

"Shove what you have to say about me right up your ass, twat," Arthur gruffly greeted, and Alfred jumped when the noise suddenly came from next to him. Arthur had gotten a lot quieter since the apocalypse began. They'd all changed so much.

"Good morning to you too, babe," Alfred chuckled wearily, and tilted his head up. Without thinking about it, Arthur gave him a brief kiss as he sat down next to him. Only when they'd settled did they both realize what they'd done, and blushed.

It was nice. They hadn't kissed like that since forever. Since they left Lexington, actually. They'd stayed a week there, thinking they'd be safe, but had escaped by a hair's length when Lexington had been overrun. After that, there hadn't been time to concentrate on their relationship as they'd been too busy being on the run.

Last time they'd kissed, their love had distracted them and had almost gotten them killed. It felt strangely good to kiss one another after so long, though. Even more strange, their relationship had kept strong regardless of the lack of affectionate gestures. This only consolidated their mutual belief that they were made for one another.

And that they'd make it out alive together as proof of their everlasting bond.

"Here you go, you two," Francis broke the confused silence by handing them both their ration of peas. "Eat up, and have a gulp of water. Just one. Our bottles are almost completely gone, so we should all just take three gulps a day, one with each meal."

"Alright," Arthur nodded, catching the bottle of water that Francis subsequently threw at him. "Fair enough."

"Not fair at all," Alfred complained, replicating the movement gruffly. "This sucks. It's way too hard to stop once I start."

"Tell yourself that you won't go thirsty if you stop now," Arthur shrugged as if it were obvious and took a gulp of his. His parched throat screamed for more, but he was able to stop himself and cap the bottle before he could give into the temptation of liquid gold.

As he noticed, though, Alfred was having a little bit of trouble with his rationing, seemingly trying to take in as much water as he could in one gulp. Feeling somewhat sorry for him, Arthur took it upon himself to take the bottle gently from his grip and cap it while Alfred gulped the water inflating his cheeks like a chipmunk's, and gave it back to Francis along with his.

"You'll thank me later," Arthur rolled his eyes when Alfred shot him a dirty glare and licked his dry lips.

"Hey, Alfred," Francis called him before they could begin another argument. "Could you be a dear and look around the second floor for something like a pack of cards that we could play with to pass the time? We're going to be here for a while. Plus, a brief walk will do your ankle some good."

"I guess." Alfred looked unsure all of a sudden, glancing nervously at Arthur, who nodded, though he wasn't sure what Francis was up to. "Alright. I'll take a look," he finally acquiesced, shoveling his peas into his mouth and standing up with some trouble.

"Stay safe," Arthur called after him, biting his lip, and Alfred only replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

They watched him leave in silence, and when the door clicked shut, Francis went up to lock it.

"Why's you send him away?" Arthur immediately cut to the chase, glaring after him.

"You're thinking," Francis replied just as quickly.

"Golly, I don't know. Evolution seems to have given us brains for that sole purpose, if you weren't aware," Arthur raised his eyebrow skeptically. "So really, what do you want to discuss? Is it Alfred?" A spark of worry jumped across his eyes, but it was quickly gone. "I assure you that it won't happen again. It was my fault, and I'll be sure next time to-"

"It's not Alfred," Francis interrupted, shaking his head and returning to sit by his friend. "I told you. You're thinking."

Arthur turned to look into Francis' blue eyes, bright like Alfred's, but so different. Both of them were so important to him, but they both understood him completely differently, which wasn't a bad thing. It just meant that things that escaped one of them always got caught with the other. Arthur literally could not hide a thing.

"So I have," he mumbled, looking away. "What of it?"

"What about? You went silent in the middle of our conversation last night. I was wondering what you'd begun concocting in that hard head of yours."

"Nothing substantial." And that was true, because there were only slivers of uncoordinated ideas popping into his head so far.

"What were you considering, then?" Francis tried again, apparently undeterred by his friend's attempts at evading the conversation.

"An escape plan. Aren't we all?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"What's your plan, then? To have kept you up all night and have made you so distant, it must have been something good."

"Well," Arthur hesitated, knowing that the idea would probably not well be received. "I... I was thinking of a way that we could all get out of here without having zombies chasing right behind us, and I came to the conclusion that the best way not to be chased by zombies is not to have zombies around in the first place."

"How very insightful of you, _rosbif_," Francis chuckled, enjoying how Arthur's face became an interesting shade of red at his comment.

"You didn't let me finish, you damn frog," he grumbled. "I... I was considering luring the zombies away from the house. With a decoy."

"Decoy. Huh. I think that's the worst idea I've heard so far," Francis shrugged nonchalantly, and the intensity of the red in Arthur's face grew.

"What did you say, you smelly monkey?" Arthur's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "I beg to differ. A decoy would be the smartest escape plan we could get. How else will we get the zombies off of our trail?"

"I don't know. Certainly not by throwing another zombie at them. Our decoy would have to be living, and-"

"That's why I was going to volunteer to become your decoy," Arthur interrupted, jaw locked tight. "I would... I would draw them away from the house, and when they're all following me, you'd sneak out and keep going towards our checkpoint. It's foolproof!"

"Foolproof, yes, until the part where you have to go out there on your own and be a moving target for those horrible monsters," Francis finally looked Arthur in the eye, and Arthur shivered at the intensity of his gaze. "You'll die. I won't let you go."

"I don't need your approval. I'm not going to sit here and wait for us to die out. Did you see our supplies dwindling? Is it safe to say that we won't last more than two more days without restocking? We need to keep moving."

"We can't afford to lose anybody, either."

"You won't be losing me!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly. "I'm not going to die! I'm not going to go out there and commit suicide, I'm going to go out there and save all of our lives!"

"You are going to go out there and get yourself killed. That's all there is to it," Francis shrugged, though as casual as the movement seemed, Arthur knew he was far from joking around. "I'm pretty sure that you don't get to decide if you live or die out there. It's them."

"I can take care of myself. I have so far, haven't I?" Arthur objected, a flicker of doubt lighting his eyes. "Trust me. You've trusted me so far, Francis," he quieted down a bit, and threw a glance up at his best friend. "So just... trust me once more. Just once more is all I ask."

"I trust you, Arthur. You are the person I trust most. I've known you for over fifteen years now, and I do trust you entirely." Francis' gaze went to the window. "But I don't trust them. I know you can take care of yourself and that you're independent enough to survive alone for some time, but... these things are monsters. They have no honour. They won't accept surrender. They will be as low as to gang up on you. Against one or two zombies, I would leave you to fight alone, because I trust that you can make it. But against one or two hundred zombies..." Francis shook his head. "I'm sorry, Arthur. Forgive me if, just this once, I disagree with you."

"You disagree with me all the time," Arthur huffed a bit childishly, and glared at him. "I'll make you sway. You and I know, deep down inside, that this is the only way out. With all the noise we've made, they won't leave on their own. We need to do something."

"That something is not getting you killed." Francis glared at him. Arthur held his gaze, and furrowed his eyebrows in determination.

"No. No it's not."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Arthur announced it over lunch.

They were sitting in a patch of sunlight and enjoying their small portions of sweet corn, relaxing as much as they could with the ruckus downstairs. The pack of old cards that had been their best friend since that morning was lying innocently at the side. Nobody spoke.

Until Arthur did.

"I think I've found a way out." And they fell back into silence. "I think it'll work."

Nobody replied. Neither of his companions even showed that they'd heard. Perhaps they were all dead already.

"I think we should give it a shot."

"Arthur." Francis' warning tone interrupted the Englishman. "I told you. It's a dangerous train of thought. Let go."

"What is it?" Alfred seemed to have perked up to the conversation at the mention of Arthur being in danger. Arthur thought it was sweet and slightly offensive at the same time.

"I was thinking of an escape plan," Arthur repeated with a bit more edge to his words. "If you'd care to hear it, it'd be much appreciated."

"Why is it dangerous?" Alfred immediately skipped to the point.

"It... It involves a decoy," Arthur hesitantly admitted.

"Sacrifice," Francis immediately corrected, nonchalantly eating his corn.

"Decoy," Arthur stressed, growling at Francis. "It's not a suicide mission."

"This ain't a movie, either," Alfred butted in. "I'm sorry, babe. Decoy in this situation? We're better off throwing one of us down the staircase."

"Listen to me, will you?" Arthur objected, getting more and more frustrated.

"Arthur, _ce n'est pas raisonnable_. Listen to yourself talk," Francis shook his head as calmly as ever.

"If you shut your bloody trap for a second, I gladly would!" the short blonde finally yelled, panting in exhaustion. "Damn it, we can't stay here!" He swept a hand at the room they were in. "We don't have any living accommodations, no proper hygiene system, just one window that we can't open during the day, no running water to drink, and nowhere to store our dwindling supplies of food. How do you expect us to stay here any longer than we have right now? I am not going to stay here and pray for a miracle that will never happen, and end up having to drink my own piss until it, too, is not enough anymore and die of dehydration. I won't be a dead body for future cleanup crews to find and study and say 'poor bloke didn't even make it out'. And... I don't want either of you to be, either." His eyes darted nervously back and forth between the two other blondes.

Both of whom said nothing to contradict his points, or agree. In fact, they both looked hesitant.

"Maybe if we just wait a little longer..." Alfred trailed off, unsure.

"Yes, maybe if we wait a little, we can become so weak that even if the zombies all left the area, we wouldn't be able to climb down the ladder and escape." Arthur shook his head. "It might seem like we're resisting against the flow of time, but in reality, this is all a race against time. We have to get out of here before we all begin rotting in place."

"You have a point, but sending you out there all alone would be crazy. Why can't we all just escape together?" Francis asked, and Arthur's heart leapt as he recognized the tone of consideration in his voice.

"There are too many zombies outside, and being a larger party would slow us down. No mention of the fact that Alfred's still hurt and will limp. With the walking dead less than two metres behind us, and not intending to stop until we do, we can't afford to be slowed down by anything."

"Sorry..." Alfred sighed at that, ashamed.

"Don't be," Arthur warned him. "It's not your fault. Even if you weren't hurt, we'd still be too large of a party to escape without being seen." He looked at them both. "Please. Please let me go. I won't fight, I'll run. I'll run towards the opposite direction until I get to yesterday's forest, and I'll scale the first tree I see. Zombies won't have the instinct to look up, and they'll keep going. I'll wait until I can't hear them anymore, maybe spend the night in the tree to be safe, and then run back and catch up with you in Saint-Jean. You two can wait until, perhaps, dusk, and then slip out of the house unseen and run towards Saint-Jean."

"Why can't we wait until you come back, and go for Saint-Jean together?" Francis questioned him again.

"How much longer can we wait? On the off chance that I have to take longer to lead them away from you, you'd risk running out of supplies. It's better if we find human contact as soon as possible, for as many of us as possible." He looked at Francis pointedly. "You may not trust them to let me get away alive, but you can trust me to come back as quickly as possible. No heroics. No loitering. Just a running loop, and we'll be back together in no time."

"Your plan is an ideal situation. So many things could go wrong," Francis remarked.

"Then I'll deal with those when the time comes." Arthur really was determined. "It'll work if we all believe it will."

"I would die," Alfred suddenly spoke up, despite being silent the entire time. "If you left... I would die."

"No you wouldn't. You'd live," Arthur insisted, sadly gazing over at him. "Please, my love, you have to let me go. I'm doing this for you."

"Don't," Alfred shook his head. "If you want to do something for me, then stay. Stay with me. If I die, I want to die with you. At least give me that."

"I can't." Arthur's response was sharp, and abrupt. And calculated. "We're going to live, I swear it to you. All of us, we're going to survive, and rebuild our lives once we get to safety. I won't take no for an answer."

"I... I love you." Alfred's voice suddenly cracked, and he turned his pleading gaze up to his boyfriend.

"If you love something, let it go." Arthur reminded him.

"Not you. I won't ever let you go," Alfred insisted.

"Which is why I'm confident that I'll return. However long or hard it is to find you again, I will return."

Alfred smiled, but Arthur knew that something had already died inside of him.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"It's dark outside. I'll go check the other sides, see if we might have some clearings," Francis announced suddenly, startling both of his companions, who were silently reading the map on the ground, sitting in the patch of moonlight, for a lack of anything else to do.

"Alright," Arthur nodded, tongue going dry. He got up and followed Francis to the door, and locked it after him.

Before he had a chance to sit back down, warm, strong hands coiled around his middle and clutched at his shirt front. Arthur's eyes stayed trained on the doorknob, even when hot breath puffed against the shell of his ear.

"So we're really doing this?" Alfred asked quietly.

"We are," Arthur answered without a doubt. "We have to."

"I don't want to lose you," Alfred shook his head, ruffling Arthur's hair a bit.

"You won't lose me, I promise," Arthur replied, slowly snaking his hands up to rest upon Alfred's, squeezing encouragingly.

"I love you so much. I still can't accept that you'll be going out alone in such a dangerous world," Alfred sounded sad, and as Arthur slowly turned around to face him, he anticipated the downcast eyes and depressed atmosphere above him.

"I won't be alone. I'll have you. Here." He took one of Alfred's hands and slid it over his heart. "And that's why I'll come back."

Alfred just chuckled and drew Arthur closer, hugging him tightly for a moment before loosening his grip and capturing his lips in a kiss.

"Thank you, Arthur. For everything," Alfred breathed, and dragged Arthur into another kiss that deepened until they moved against the wall and used that for support, both for Alfred's injured ankle, and for Arthur, who had fallen prey to Alfred's charm yet again. Unable to support them both, though, Alfred soon lowered them to the ground and straddled Arthur, taking a moment to gaze in wonder at his bright eyes, kiss-swollen lips and panted gasps, before lowering himself to kiss him again.

This time, Arthur responded despite himself, rolling his hips and arching his back off the ground, hands reaching up and latching at the nape of Alfred's neck to draw him deeper. Alfred gently cradled Arthur's face, a little bit of softness in the otherwise fierce kiss he was sharing with his lover, and caressed his cheeks with his thumbs.

"'fred," Arthur panted once they parted for air, momentarily reminding Arthur of their situation. His cheeks were flushed and he needed to catch his breath, but he was still lucid and could make out their surroundings. Alfred did not give him time to follow up, though, swooping in for another shattering kiss that destroyed his common sense. It was not long, though, before Arthur found the will to put a hand on Alfred's cheek and push him away slightly. Alfred caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he backed off a little, letting go of it only to breathe heavy breaths.

"What's wrong?" he immediately inquired, worry flashing through his eyes.

"Nothing. It's just that-" Arthur gulped down, still panting. "We can't."

"We can," Alfred insisted, lowering his head to kiss him again. "I still have a condom from back in Lexington-" He did not get very far before Arthur pushed his face away again and sighed.

"No. This isn't the place, nor the time," Arthur shook his head. "Please. Don't."

"Okay," Alfred looked disappointed, but sat back up, bringing Arthur with him. "Is something wrong?" he asked again, just to make sure.

"No... Like I said, we just can't do this here. Not like this." His eyes flickered up to Alfred shyly. "I... I want to make love to you, but once we're out of here. Once we're somewhere safe where you can hold me and I can take my time driving you wild and not fear for my life during every moment of inattention. You understand, don't you?"

"I do," Alfred immediately answered, and then hushed. He looked away. Arthur was worried at the elongated silence, before he realized that Alfred was trying to keep sobs at bay.

"Alfred?" he asked worriedly, blanching. "Darling, please. Did I say something?"

"No," Alfred's voice quivered with emotion. "I just-" he choked. "This could possibly be one of the last nights we have together, and I want to love you with everything I have, just in case you... we..." he couldn't finish, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Oh, love," Arthur's throat clogged up, and he felt nauseous. "Oh, god, don't cry," he whispered, catching Alfred's tears on his fingers.

"I'm sorry. So far, I haven't been of any use to you. I just keep getting in the way and getting hurt and maybe you would have gotten further if I hadn't held you back," he sniffled pathetically.

"Don't you dare say that, Alfred. You've been of more use than you think. If you'd died off somewhere, I wouldn't have gotten this far. I've always needed you to succeed." Arthur wiped Alfred's tears off his face. "Which is why I need you now. I need you to trust me, and to never stop believing that I will come back to you."

"I'll never stop believing in you," Alfred promised, startling Arthur lightly by throwing his arms around him. "Thank you so much, Artie. I love you."

"And I love you, you big baby," Arthur smiled fondly, albeit a bit sadly, and returned the hug. "When the daylight comes, I'll have to go, but tonight, I'm going to hold you so close. I promise."

Alfred nodded to express that he'd heard, but said nothing. They remained in silence a moment, before three knocks came at the door.

Rising, Arthur left Alfred to collect himself as he went to open the door and let Francis in. His best friend strode in confidently, and as usual, his posture irked Arthur for no reason. Perhaps it was because he seemed to be taking everything so much better than everyone else.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled as he locked the door.

"I, ahh... Took my time. No rush, isn't that right?" Francis winked as if he knew something the others didn't. His eyes momentarily flickered to Alfred, who had wiped his tears away, but whose red-rimmed eyes were tell-tale, even in the obscurity.

"Right, so. What did you find?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.

"The back of the house is clear. We can set up the ladder tonight if we don't make noise. Seems like yesterday's events have served a purpose after all." He nodded at the door. "The noise attracted all the zombies swarming around the house into the house, or at least at the front, since that's where it came from. Your crowd will thus be waiting for you on the porch, and inside the house. The most important ones to take with you are the ones that are not inside the house yet. The others won't bother us when we escape."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that," Arthur rolled his eyes tiredly, and glanced at the window. It was completely dark outside now, and it was hard to see aside from the moonlight filtering in. Arthur was grateful for such a clear night. It would also mean a clear morning. Nothing to do but set up and wait now. The deadliest game had begun. "So. Are we setting up the ladder or what?"

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"Are you alright like this?"

"Move a little. Yes, just like that. Good."

Two shadows wiggled in the darkness before settling into silence again. Then, one of them shifted, and turned around to face the other, who had his arms loosely around his waist.

"Arthur?" the meek voice called hesitantly. "Are you going to sleep?"

"I have to," his companion gruffly answered, shifting.

"Where's Francis?" Alfred asked again.

"He fell asleep in the corner a while ago, right after we came back from set-up."

"Oh." They went silent again. "I don't want to sleep."

"You have to. You have to build up your energy and heal a little. You're going to be running for your life tomorrow," Arthur insisted, and Alfred flashed him a guilty glance.

"But I don't want to waste even a single moment that I have left with you," he admitted. "When the sun comes up, you will leave. This is my last glance and it'll soon be memory."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Arthur shook his head lightly. "We'll find each other again, I promise."

"What if one of us is forced to break that promise? Nobody knows what's going to happen," Alfred looked up at him pleadingly. "I find myself wishing that the ladder would fall down during the night so that you'd stay here with me."

"Then we'd all die for sure," Arthur sighed, staring right back into Alfred's eyes. "You're afraid," he noted.

"And you aren't?" Alfred scoffed incredulously. "Then you're out of your mind."

"No, I... I am scared," Arthur admitted with a bit of trouble. "But fear is what will keep me alive tomorrow. Fear, and the thought of you." He awkwardly wiggled one of Alfred's hands up and kissed the knuckles tenderly.

"You suck," Alfred laughed a little bit nervously and replied with a kiss to his forehead. "You're so sappy."

"Come on. Humour me a little. Here I am, staring at your perfection in my arms." He kissed Alfred's cheek. "So beautiful... And despite everything, this may be the last time I get to hold you like this," Arthur smiled sadly.

"That's not a very optimistic train of thought," Alfred averted his eyes. His boyfriend's despair was infectious and soon, he too was doubting the success rate of this plan.

"I may have suggested this plan, but it doesn't mean I'm fool enough not to be afraid. Something is definitely going to go wrong tomorrow. Whether it's a tiny detail or a huge step in the entire thing, something's going to mess up." He stopped there and bit his lip. He wasn't being very optimistic, as Alfred had noted, and the lack of will could very well impede on his abilities to survive.

"So you admit that this is suicide," Alfred more stated than asked, gaze blank and shrouded in the dark.

"No. I'm just admitting that I am logically scared of what will happen tomorrow. I am human, and if you hadn't notice yet, humans tend to be scared of monsters that could very well rip them apart with their teeth," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Well if you're scared, you shouldn't go. It's this fear of death that's kept us alive until now," Alfred quieted down, eyes downcast.

"And if I don't go, we'll be stuck here forever. It's the fear of death that will have killed us," Arthur shook his head, hair and clothes rustling against the ground.

Nobody spoke for a moment, the moans of the zombies downstairs intensifying in the pressuring, silent darkness. It was hard to believe that they'd passed so close to dying so many times before. It was even harder to believe that, despite so many close calls and months spent on the run, they were not invincible. That their lives could be over in the blink of an eye or in the time it took to for teeth to clamp down on muscle.

"It's late." Alfred finally broke the silence, drawing Arthur closer and clutching his dirty clothes in desperation. "You were right. If you're going to go through with this, you're gonna need all your strength tomorrow. Get some rest."

"No. I guess I see what you meant. I need to, but I'm trying not to sleep, because I know that when I wake, I'll have to slip away," Arthur gave a pained smile.

"Babe, just close your eyes. I'll wait for you in your dreams," Alfred kissed Arthur's forehead. For a moment, they forgot who was supposed to be comforting whom. Were they even being comforting anymore?

"No. I don't want it to get any darker than it is right now." Arthur's eyes darted side to side nervously. "The night is darkest before dawn."

"Slow down, Mr Degree in Literature. I... uhh... What?" Alfred blushed, a bit confused by his lover's words. Arthur tended to get philosophical when he delved into deep thoughts, and Alfred was ashamed to admit that he seldom understood what he said without proper explanation.

"Time. Time's flying right by us. I was afraid of the dark, but now it's all that I want." Arthur clung to Alfred desperately. "Anything to keep me in your arms longer. In the daylight, we'll be on our own, but tonight I want to hold you so close."

"Don't go." Alfred attempted to hold him back one last time, and then, weighing the silence, realized that he'd lost ever since the moment that Arthur hatched his plan.

"No. I'm going to go, and I will succeed and I will find you again so that I can promise you for good that I will never again leave your side," Arthur shook his head. "And you had better get there safe and sound, too, or I will be severely frustrated with you."

"My journey is a lot less than dangerous than yours. Concentrate on your crazy little mission, not me, alright? Don't worry about me, Artie," Alfred smiled softly, caressing Arthur's cheek lovingly.

"My name's Arthur," his boyfriend grunted, blushing lightly at the open display of affection, something they hadn't shared in a long long while.

"Arthur," Alfred hummed, readjusting his grip on Arthur's smaller body to draw him as close as he could, and embraced him as fiercely as he could. "Arthur, Arthur, my Arthur."

Arthur did not reply, but let himself go boneless in Alfred's arms. Though he fought it, he finally fell asleep to the warmth of Alfred's arms securely set around him, promising him safety and everlasting love.

Arthur wished that he would not be lied to that way, but he never could refuse Alfred anything anyway.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Arthur woke up at dawn. It was still way too early to put the plan into action, but no matter how much he tried, he could not fall asleep again. After what felt like forever of trying to convince his brain that he was safe in Alfred's hold and did not have to fear the source of the muffled moans, he finally began pushing his strong arms off of him and with a little bit of trouble, managed to get out of Alfred's grip.

"'rthur..." Alfred called in his sleep as soon as Arthur left his grasp. "C'me back..."

"Shh, Alfred, I'm not going anywhere," Arthur assured him in a soft whisper, caressing his hair and bending down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Go to sleep, darling. It's still early."

"Hmm," Alfred hummed in his sleep and sighed, wiggling to make himself comfortable before stilling again. Arthur threaded his fingers through his hair until he went right back to sleep, and then stood up to stretch.

It was still slightly dark outside when he glanced out of the single window in the room. The sky was getting bright and the stars were burning out. His throat went dry because he found it way too hard, especially since he knew that when the sun came up, he'd have to leave. In a moment of weakness, he desperately wished that somebody could slow it down.

He stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as night shifted over to day right in front of his eyes. The moans of the zombies in the dead silence of dawn were almost like a hallucination now. Looking at the orange sky brought a strange peace to Arthur. Perhaps this is what a condemned man feels as he watches the run rise above the gallows that await him.

Brusquely tearing his eyes away from the canvas of colours, he turned to the corner where Francis was lying down, seemingly asleep. The glint of daylight in the blonde's eyes was a dead giveaway, though. He'd probably woken up to Arthur's shuffling. Needing to escape the unbearably lonely feeling in his heart, Arthur walked over to him and sat down by his side.

"Sorry for waking you," he whispered, looking straight at the wall.

"Not at all. I was too anxious to sleep well anyway," Francis assured him, sitting up and stretching.

"Sorry," Arthur repeated without actually meaning to.

They both fell into silence, Arthur unknowing what to say and his companion unwilling to disturb his peace. Whatever peace the man could find anymore. And then, Arthur spoke.

"Please get him to safety. Promise me you will see him unharmed. You'll take care of him, won't you?" he whispered, gaze blank. "When I'm gone?"

"You speak as if you're marching off to war," Francis eyed him warily.

"Perhaps I am," Arthur shrugged. "Who knows if I'll come back."

"You've been lying to him," Francis stated cautiously. "You haven't once doubted the fact that you'll return."

"He doesn't need to be worried. All he needs to concentrate on his survival and getting safely to his brother," Arthur shook his head.

"He'll never be the same if you don't make it. Or if you never return," his best friend warned him.

"I know," Arthur smiled, though the subject wasn't exactly cheery. "I never said I'd commit suicide. That is definitely not an option and never will be. There are some people left in this wretched world that care for me. I'm not blind. I know I have much to live for still." He turned his eyes to Francis, finally. "Which is why I refuse to sit here and die off. If I die, I want to die knowing that I did something. If I sit here and wait, it's suicide."

"As you wish, Arthur. Just be careful. I trust you very much, you know I do, but I don't trust those monsters out there. Please don't do anything stupid," Francis sighed, glancing at the window.

"I wouldn't," Arthur assured him quietly. "I want to come back as much as you do."

Francis did not reply. He instead watched Arthur's body language, his hunched position, downcast eyes, lips bitten through and through and his nails chewed down to nothing. He had yet to figure out so many things about his friend's complex personality, but he knew when someone was distressed.

Without a word, he threw the blanket off of himself and scooted over to Arthur's side. The other blonde did not move, so Francis took it as a green light to lean over and gather him in his arms.

Arthur was like a rag doll, letting Francis pull him close and not protesting as he usually would have at such great physical contact.

He was only human. He needed the comfort. Like an inmate's last meal.

He only moved a second later, to turn his head and bury his face into Francis' shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, his arms snaked up and loosely wrapped around his waist, returning the hug.

"Thank you," Arthur's voice was painfully honest, uncharacteristically quiet. Fear seemed to do that to a man, even a man as strong as Arthur.

"Any time, _mon petit lapin_," Francis chuckled, rocking him a few times. "I'm glad we met."

Arthur only smiled and took another second of comfort in Francis' arms, and then inhaled deeply before pushing him away.

"Well sometimes, I find myself regretting the day we met. If we hadn't, I wouldn't have to listen to you croak all the time, you stinky frog," Arthur smirked, getting up and dusting himself off, then looking down at him. "Sometimes."

And he left it at that, turning around to walk back to his boyfriend while Francis smothered his amused laughter behind his hands.

Sitting down next to Alfred, Arthur stretched the last remnants of sleep out of his limbs, and then took Alfred's hand in his own. Alfred stirred as Arthur began playing with his fingers, mumbling in his sleep. His heart began to beat faster as Alfred's eyes fluttered open and immediately locked onto his. Arthur greeted him with a smile and got one in return.

"Morning," Alfred yawned, pushing himself up and throwing his arms around his boyfriend.

"Control yourself," Arthur spluttered as Alfred cuddled him sleepily, rubbing their cheeks like a kitten would. It was strangely endearing.

"No," Alfred hummed, pressing a sloppy kiss to Arthur's cheek. "I had a nightmare. That you left without saying goodbye."

"That explains why you're so clingy," Arthur grumbled, rolling his eyes, but making no move to escape Alfred's grip. "But I'm right here, so if you would be kind enough not to smother me..."

"Hmm... Love you..." Alfred smiled sleepily, then pushed himself off of Arthur, taking his hand when he moved back.

"Me too," Arthur's mouth twitched into a smile. "Breakfast?"

"Always," Alfred laughed, pushing his blanket off of himself and getting up, pulling Arthur to his feet as well. "Franny!" He turned to Francis, who was rifling through their supplies. "What are we having?"

"Well, I'm trying to count what we have so that I can split everything between our two parties. I estimate that we'll make it to the checkpoint by tonight, or if we're forced to stop, by tomorrow morning, so we don't really need much food as compared to Arthur, who will be on the run all day, and afterwards for an unknown amount of time. I divided the food in two, so it should be alright," Francis explained as the couple approached him.

"Yeah but what's for right now?" Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "I'm hungry."

"Aren't you always?" Arthur rolled his eyes. How Alfred ate so much and remained so fit always escaped him.

"Ha ha, Arthur." Alfred rolled his eyes, shoving his lover lightly. "So. What did you say we'd be having for breakfast?"

"Your pick. We've got a can of peaches and a can of chick peas," Francis picked up the two cans and showed them to the couple.

"Ooh, let's have peaches!" Alfred's eyes lit up. "Like a 'good luck' meal."

"I don't understand your logic sometimes," Arthur raised his eyebrow. "But let's have peaches nonetheless. We'll need the sugar."

"Alright." With a practiced movement, Francis opened the can and brought out their dirty mess kits.

Breakfast was a strangely silent affair, as everyone was lost in their own thoughts. The brief moment taken, the mess kits were put away, and the daylight seemed so much stronger outside all of a sudden.

"We should get ready," Arthur was the first to suggest.

"Your supplies are in this," Francis held out a small bag to Arthur. "Including both your water bottle and a couple of cans of food. A spoon is in there, too. I left you our map as well."

"Take the map," Arthur grumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks. "Wouldn't want you to get lost."

"Arthur, we can just follow the signs on the road. You need the map," Francis looked a bit surprised.

"No, you keep it. I can bloody well use signs as well," he insisted. "Can't read the bloody thing anyway," he muttered under his breath, making his companions crack a smile.

"Don't stray off the path, then, alright?" Francis warned him, pulling the map out of his backpack and setting it on the ground. "Did you need anything else?"

"Do we possess anything else, even?" Arthur huffed out. "I'll be fine. I've got my gun, and a knife, and that's all that matters in the end."

"Alright," Francis nodded, getting up and throwing Arthur his bag. "I'll go clear the coast by the ladder. I'll be right back."

"Right," Arthur nodded, seeing him go. At this point, nobody locked the door anymore. They'd stopped caring a long time ago, even before they got stuck in there.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Alfred turned to Arthur.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively, as if afraid.

"Of course. I'm ready." Which did not mean that he wasn't anxious.

"You don't sound ready," Alfred noted hesitantly.

"I'm just a bit nervous. Don't worry."

"Why?" Alfred asked again, and something in the innocence with which he spoke ticked Arthur off. Admittedly, he was jealous of how well Alfred was dealing with all of this.

"Well I don't know. Look at me. Here I am, waiting. I'll have to leave soon." Sarcasm filtered out of his speech gradually, and he sighed. "Why am I holding on?"

"Because life means to you. There ain't nothing wrong with that," Alfred meekly offered, backing up his words with a hug. Arthur immediately let himself go in his arms, breathing deeply.

"We couldn't run away all the time. We knew this day would come. We knew it all along," he looked up into his lover's eyes sorrowfully. "How did it come so fast?"

"If I had an entire lifetime with you, death would come too fast in the end. An eternity wouldn't be enough time to love you like you deserve," Alfred mumbled, not entirely sure of what he was saying. By the fond, surprise look in Arthur's eyes, he could tell that it was good, though.

"But love is not what I'm worried about. I know we'll be in love, even in death, but I just want to live right now."

"One and the same," Alfred immediately stated, kissing Arthur's cheek. "You love whatever lives. You live if you love. "

"That's funny," Arthur let out a string of trembling chuckles. "I swore I was the literature graduate here."

"Words from the bottom of my heart are worth every literature degree out there," Alfred chuckled along, a bit more confident.

"Then promise me this, from the bottom of your heart," Arthur whispered somberly, and even the ever-so oblivious Alfred felt the shift in the atmosphere. "You'll live, you'll find safety, and you'll be happy. And if ever anything happens to me, you'll move on, but never forget me."

"I don't need to promise that. You're gonna come back, I just know it." His boyfriend kissed his forehead.

Arthur did not have the opportunity to reply before Francis opened the door. The two immediately looked up, still hugging, and felt something akin to freezing water run down their spines.

"It's time," Francis motioned to the hallway with his head. "We should go now."

"Let's do it," Arthur agreed, getting up along with Alfred. Alfred did not speak, following behind Arthur. He never let go of his hand, even though his palm was clammy.

There was a loud noise in the hallway, coming from downstairs. The trio did not pay attention to it and headed to the room where the ladder had been set up. It overlooked the field behind the house, so Arthur would have a lot of ground to escape onto if anything went wrong. They stepped into the room silently, and headed for the window. Daylight had finally completely touched the earth. Peering out of the window, they made sure that no zombies were waiting at the foot of the ladder or nearby, then stepped back.

"I guess this is it," Arthur nodded to Francis, his heart somersaulting scarily in his chest. His stomach began to hurt, but he quickly pushed that down. He didn't need distractions right now. "I'll see you later." Wherever they ended up meeting. In this life or the next. "Thanks," he quietly pulled his hand out of Alfred's and held it out for Francis.

Francis briefly looked down at it, and then gingerly took it, bending to kiss it. Arthur blinked at him in surprise, but when Francis glanced up and winked, he couldn't help but smile.

"Don't touch me," he slapped Francis' face away without much strength, and then offered his hand again, which Francis shook properly this time, with a proud smile. Arthur smirked back, then pulled him close into a one-armed hug and a pat on the back. "Don't forget what I said this morning," he reminded him as he stepped back.

"Wouldn't dream of it, _rosbif_," Francis assured him, smiling softly. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Arthur then turned to Alfred, who was fidgeting nervously. "And you. I expect you to be on your best behaviour and cooperate with Francis. And slap him in the face if he does something stupid. Stay hydrated, and if your ankle begins hurting again, find somewhere safe that you can take a breather. Save your bullets, too."

"Arthur, I got this," Alfred shook his head with a sheepish smile. "Don't worry. Please. I'll be fine."

"Right then." Arthur snorted, crossing his arms, and looking at Alfred expectantly. Alfred seemed to shrink under his gaze, as if he didn't know what was expected him. Arthur did not have time for pleasantries, though. He quickly uncrossed his arms and hugged his boyfriend, taking a deep whiff of his hair. He smelled like sweat, blood, dirt and grease, but it was still strangely comforting. In a second, Alfred's strong arms were around him, pulling him close and tight. Arthur closed his eyes, imagining that the next time they'd hug like this, they'd be safe. One way or another.

But he had no time to lose. Every second counted.

Pushing Alfred away gently, he caressed his cheek briefly, and lovingly gaze into his eyes. Alfred looked back at him with a heartbreaking sadness in his eyes, and kissed his hand. No words were exchanged, and Alfred instead came forward to press a long, wet kiss to Arthur's lips. Arthur replied just as passionately, but briefly, pulling away to catch his breath and check his weapons before swinging his backpack straps over both shoulders and stepping up to the window.

"Right, well, I'm off. See you two around." He nodded at both of them, and his mouth twitched into what was supposed to be a comforting smile before he put one leg out of the window and passed his entire body through to step on the first rung of the aluminum ladder. "Goodbye."

"Arthur," Alfred suddenly stepped forward, directly at the window, and looked at Arthur pleadingly. "Please. Please, babe, please be careful..."

"I will, I promise," Arthur nodded, and hesitated a second before leaning forward and giving Alfred a soft, brief, chaste, but oh-so sweet kiss. A promise. A memento.

And then he was gone, zooming down the ladder rungs and landing safely. Alfred wanted to watch on in horrified curiosity, but he couldn't see anything past Arthur cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling on top of his lungs. A second after the noise came, Francis immediately dragged him down to the ground, and ushered him away from the window.

"Arthur," Alfred choked out, looking at Francis pleadingly. "I-I have to... I have to see-"

"Alfred, stop. We can't risk any zombies seeing us. For all they know, everybody is gone from this house already. Stay down. We'll go back once Arthur is gone," he warned him in a whisper.

"I never should have let him go," Alfred choked out, ears catching the sound of Arthur hollering outside. It was meant to be funny, the way he swore at them and called them names that Alfred had never even heard before, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh. He was barely holding back tears.

"Trust him to come back. I've known Arthur since we were children. He won't break a promise." Not on purpose, at least, he reminded himself grimly, unable to smile at his friend's antics, either. They went silent, blood chilling in the veins when screeches and moans arose from everywhere around them, howls from hell itself. Alfred momentarily wondered if they'd died and if they were serving their sentence now.

And he suddenly wished that he weren't there to listen to Arthur yell outside, taunting the zombies and drawing them out of the front of the house. He was terribly afraid, now that he couldn't see, that any second now, Arthur's smug taunting would become muffled screaming. Terrified tears pricked his eyes and he buried his face in his hands, refusing to cry.

This went on for five to ten minutes, after which a whole mob seemed to have conglomerated outside. They did not tamper much with the ladder, rattling it once or twice, to Francis' obvious horror, but left it alone and concentrated on their moving target, which seemed to have completely its mission.

"Good luck!" was the last thing that Arthur yelled loud and clear, obviously for human ears to hear only. And then nothing else. Francis and Alfred waited in bated breath for new developments, but nothing happened. Five, ten minutes later, the only moans were the ones coming from downstairs. Nothing outside.

And Alfred finally deemed it safe enough to burst into tears.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Francis and Alfred carefully returned to their safe room after a while, each vacating to their own thoughts. Francis pulled out the map and studied it again for the hundredth time, and Alfred busied himself with building a castle of cards that always crumbled at the seams. His tears had stopped falling but his heart never stopped crying.

They warmed back up by lunchtime, having had enough time to be solitary. They both knew, as they began a comfortable discussion about their escape plan, that lingering on something would do them no good. Nothing lasted in this condemned world anyway.

Happiness did not. And by extension, sadness should not last either.

"Is your ankle alright for jogging?" Francis asked as he put away their dirty mess kits away.

"It hasn't hurt too badly. I might limp a little bit." Alfred took a deep breath and swallowed a gulp of water. He imagined Arthur's hands pulling him back and he stopped after a single gulp, his parched throat screaming for more as he twisted the cap shut.

"We'll start at a fast walk, then. We'll have to sneak around a little bit, avoid tall grass in the dark, but let's try to keep our pace steady. We'll keep jogging, or in desperate cases, sprinting, for emergencies," Francis pulled the map between them. "We'll go through here. It's an asphalt road, so it'll be easier for you, and it won't make much difference since in the night, zombies will have trouble seeing us. We'll have trouble, too, though, so we should just run, instead of sneaking around."

"Francis, it's alright," Alfred stopped him before he could keep going. "Arthur trusted you. So I'll trust you, too."

Francis stared at him, the sad smile on his face, and folded the map comprehensively.

"In that case, let's leave it to nature and play a game of cards instead."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Night approached and anxiety rose within the remaining blondes. They were tense as they paced around the room, making sure their things were packed and running the plan over again in their heads. The sun was dying down, and an orange glow had been cast over everything. Neither of them had any kind of electronic device, so they did not know the time. Francis, at some point, though, decided that it was time to go, and so they did.

Alfred was surprised and admittedly a bit disappointed by how uneventful their escape was. Arthur had done his job right, and no zombies bothered them on their way down the ladder. As they walked away from the house and regained the paved road, they both noted how none of the undead were left around the house, nor on the front porch. It was comforting a little bit, to be able to slip away unseen, but the underlying fact was that Arthur had an entire pack of undead running after him so that they could escape safely.

Alfred tried not to let that get to him and concentrated on running. If he died, Arthur's efforts would have been for naught.

They met no notable resistance for the first two hours or so. Dusk turned into night, and they were still on the run. They stopped once, to rest Alfred's aching ankle on a roadside border fence, and then got back to walking when Francis spotted a few limping figures coming their way. Asides that, they met no resistance as they engaged in the long stretch of road between two residential centres.

The most dangerous part was the home stretch, thirty minutes before they reached Saint-Jean. Houses were becoming more and more common, as were their deceased inhabitants roaming the streets, and Francis briefly discussed staying the night before continuing. Their visibility was very limited in the night, and Alfred's ankle was throbbing with every step. They were slowed down by Francis helping him walk, and every form that rose out of the shadows and stumbled towards them was another tiny heart attack.

"I wonder how Arthur's doing," Alfred mumbled when the silence broken by haunted cries became too heavy to bear.

"I'm sure he's fine," Francis quickly answered, telling him to leave it at that.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Blood was staining the leaves under Arthur's feet as he ran, the intense smell of a living being drawing zombies from all around after him. The forest was alight with the moans of the undead. Arthur was panting, his side cramping and his bag of supplies noticeably missing from his back, but he tried to avoid the tree trunks popping out in front of him as he ran. He was light-headed and didn't even know where he was going. He'd used the last of his bullets a ways back and his hands were too shaky to use a knife properly.

He ran until his legs finally gave out under him, his frantic mind ordering a terrified scream, survival instinct blazing as he dragged himself across the damp leaves. The tears on his cheeks turned to full out sobs, ricocheting off the trees, loud and uncensored for he had nothing left to be ashamed of. He was going to die, alone, under the hands -and teeth- of a faceless monster.

He couldn't do it anymore. He tried so hard, but it got him nowhere. It didn't even matter in the end.

Letting himself drop, Arthur curled up in a ball, refusing to look at the shadow looming over him and cried out one last time.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"If you say so..." Alfred was unconvinced, but really couldn't afford to dabble on in such depressing thoughts.

Confrontation became necessary about fifteen minutes before they got to the city's bounds. Ironically enough, Francis could see the fences on the horizon, lit by the telltale search lights dimmed in the distance, when he pulled out his knife to stab the first kill of the night.

"How many can you see?" Alfred immediately pulled out his own weapon, ears out for the warning moans of the undead.

"They're not in big numbers. Let's keep moving so that they don't come at us in a pack." A moan rose into the night and Francis spun around to check behind them. "_Merde_. A bunch of them are coming at us in the back."

"Let's go then!" Alfred rushed him, limping forward and dragging Francis with him. To their ever-growing dismay, zombies seemed to be coming out of every alley, one or two at a time, but grouped together so that by the time they'd gotten on the main street, they had an entire pack, a couple of dozens of undead, stumbling and screeching close behind. Unable to jog because of his ankle, Alfred did his best to drag himself with Francis' help, who, on top of having to lead the expedition, was supporting Alfred's weight, and was exhausted out of his wits.

"Are we there yet?" Alfred voice had turned into a small squeak, pain overriding his senses.

"Almost. That's the fence we need to reach, at the end of that street, see?" It was slightly easier to spot the said fence as they got closer to the search lights, but to both of them, it seemed like forever before they even got halfway. The crowd behind them didn't help in making them feel triumphant.

"We're almost there," Alfred panted through the haze of pain as they crossed the third street before the fence. His ankle was beginning to slow him down, and to their horror, the undead were catching up by the likes of ten metres away. Both their paces were steady, though, so they kept going as best as they could.

"As soon as we get close, you need to put your hands up. Zombies are not the only threat out here, and if we don't announce our surrender, they might mistake us for looters or scouts for some rag tag team of bandits," Francis explained as eagerness turned their limp into a brisk walk towards the fence. It didn't look so far anymore. They could both see the search lights illuminating the patrols and their patrol dogs, inside the fence. They hadn't been spotted yet.

"How do we get their attention?" Alfred panted, his leg sending jolts of pain up his spine with every step. "They'll catch up if we don't announce ourselves soon enough!"

"Alright, only one thing left to do. If this gets us killed, forgive me," Francis bit his lip, and unholstered his gun. Aiming it back, he had a moment to find his target in the inky darkness of the night before firing.

The shot rang out in the relative silence of the night, and the painting seemed to come alive.

There was a split second that Francis used to holster his gun before the lights were upon them. They blinded the both of them, halting their progress as stars exploded in their vision, but not the progress of their companions in the back.

"Keep walking, put your hands up," Francis advised, shakily putting his free hand up in surrender.

"Francis, I can't see." Alfred's voice was trembling, understandably. The moans that were following them were worryingly close.

The sound of human voices reached their ears, scrambling and yelling out orders. They would not stop until they got inside, though. Alfred tentatively opened his eyes once he got used to the light, and saw the guards inside just waiting with their dogs. Why weren't they helping? Alfred had a bad feeling about it and got an even worse feeling as something screeched behind him. A second later, full blown out fear gripped his soul like the clawed hand that gripped his arm.

Alfred screamed and twisted around, blindly punching whatever was in front of him. He caught something soft, thankful that it wasn't teeth, and punched the same spot again. Next to him, Francis sounded like the was having the same problem. It was ironic how they would die so close to safety. Poor Arthur couldn't have saved them from this.

Alfred's vision was swimming, blurs of colour registering behind his dirty glasses, white dots specking his view. His mind was shutting down, terror taking over his senses. Francis had let go of him to fight off his own attackers, so Alfred attempted to blindly catch the zombie's throat and keep its face away from his as much as possible. He could still see well enough to make out the rotten jaw snapping at him, teeth glinting with blood and bits of tissue stuck between them, and Alfred realized he was crying. He was going to die.

And as suddenly as it came, the zombie trying to chew his face off was on the ground, unmoving, a bullet hole in its forehead. Taking deep breaths, Alfred retreated until his back hit the fence, able to see the zombies under the spotlights and horrified at how many there were. To his relief, more gunshots rang out, and a moment later, someone grabbed his hand. Alfred flinched and let out a small cry, but quickly recognized Francis. He was saying something, urgency in those bright, teary blue eyes of his, but Alfred couldn't hear him. Shock had taken a hold of him, and sound filtered out. In return, colours seemed to come into sharp contrast, and he could suddenly make out all the details around him.

Francis yelled, and his hearing suddenly filtered back in again, startling him.

"Come on! They're opening the fence!"

Nodding dumbly, Alfred let Francis drag him by the hand, limping heavily on the short way to the end of the rolling fence. A man in army green uniform was waiting there, and as soon as they reached it, opened it for them to stumble inside, immediately locking it afterwards. Alfred and Francis only had a brief moment of relief before hands were on them and voice barked out from everywhere.

"Freeze! On your knees, hands on the fence!"

The hands manhandled them to the fence that blocked them from the zombies outside, forcing them to their knees. Too tired to argue, the blondes put their hands up and gripped the fence. Francis let out a loud cry when a zombie suddenly grabbed the fence, shoving its teeth through the links in order to grab and eat him, but the people holding him down did not let him draw back. It wasn't long before one of the officers behind him pulled out a handgun and shot the zombie down, but it was enough for Alfred to make out the terrified tears running down Francis' cheeks. He was glad that he wasn't the only one breaking down in this situation.

"Disarm them!" The same voice ordered and the hands set to work, patting every inch of the blondes' bodies and pulling out both of their guns and the knives at their waists. "Do you have any other weapons?" demanded the voice.

"No," Alfred answered in a quivering voice. "No, we don't! Please let us go!"

"Stand," the voice commanded, and they were pulled to their feet and spun around to face the person who was obviously the base's commander. The loud booming of guns was dying down behind them, as was the moaning of the zombies that had followed them, but Alfred was not comforted in the least.

The man was tall, buff, and stood straight. Wearing the typical army uniform, Alfred recognized his insignia as that of a sergeant. By the way he was acting, he was probably the big boss around this checkpoint. He had blond hair slicked back and piercing blue eyes that raked over them for any sign of danger.

"Are you bit?" he asked, and Alfred noted that he had a small accent.

"N-No," Francis stuttered out in his stead, visibly trembling.

"Corporal Honda," the tall man barked, and a smaller man with black hair and dark brown eyes stepped up next to him.

"Yes Sir," he answered, eyes trained on the newcomers.

"Escort them to the infirmary, have Private Vargas look at them. I want a full report before daylight."

"Sir, yes Sir," the man saluted, and the soldiers holding Alfred and Francis abruptly let them go. Alfred lurched, stumbling, but before he had a chance to regain his balance, Francis had already helped him stand up and walk after the quiet man escorting them. The surprised look in Alfred's eyes spoke volumes, but Francis only answered with a sad smile.

"I promised him I'd protect you."

They may have finally reached safety, but Alfred was more devastated than ever.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**I LIED THERE'S ONE CHAPTER LEFT. Reason for this is... I didn't think it would be so long winded. I'm so sorry, most of this chapter was just blah blah blah. Apologies for making you wait, but this chapter is already 11 000 words long, I don't want to make it longer ;w; Next chapter, we'll see Alfred and Francis getting to Montreal, enter Matthew, settling in, and what happened to Arthur.**

**The French was rather easy to guess in this chapter. The only one was probably '_ce n'est pas raisonnable_', which means 'it's unreasonable/makes no sense'. I had a bit of trouble, though, with Canadian army ranks, so... hope it makes sense :U **

**I tried to make things more interesting with metaphors and only came up with the one about the game of cards. You know. Cause a lot of card games are chance, and luck, and only a little bit of skill. (exceptyu-gi-ohdatshitis30%skill70%believin'intheheartofthecardshahahaha yolo). Well, that's that for me and meaningful writing oops. **

**Also, let's play a game. Spot all the references you can find of AMC's "The Walking Dead".**

**So hope you enjoyed this second chapter, and please leave a review! It always motivates me a lot more when I see that people enjoy what I'm writing ;w; Thanks for your time everyone, and please leave a comment, any comment you may have, as a review! 8D**


	3. Dawn

**Author's Note**

**Ahhh I am so sorry for the length of this chapter ;_; I know how annoying long chapters can get, and I wish I hadn't described so many scenes in detail, but... this is what you get ;w; **

**EDIT/: I AM SO SORRY OMFG I forgot to thank my beautiful reviewers ;A; PLEASE FORGIVE ME I was in a hurry? ;w; So I offer my eternal gratitude and love to crazyanimelover98, Mars and Kitkat, bobness, Almiaranger, and the mysterious guest reviewer, without whom this chapter would not have happened 8D THANK YOUHHH FOREVER AND ALWAYS. **

**Warnings for this chapter include language, depression, suicide, and gay babbus being gay. **

**The usual drill: Pretty much the entire chapter was typed on an Ipod, so please feel free to point out spelling mistakes, thank you.**

**Please enjoy the last chapter of Daylight!**

* * *

"Mr Alfred, Mr Francis!"

A sing-song voice tore both blondes from their reverie, sending reality crashing upon them in a matter of seconds. They both whipped their heads up to look at the newcomer, who was an auburn-haired teenager with a rebellious curl on the side of his head, dressed in a white lab coat. He was approaching with papers in his hands, and the blondes froze, knowing that those papers were their fate.

"Dr Vargas," Francis addressed in a small voice, and Alfred nodded with him. Both of them were exhausted, and had not been given leave, even after an hour of extensive testing for any signs of the infection, so at this point, Alfred would agree to anything if it meant being given a corner to sleep in.

"Your test results are in," the young doctor hummed, pulling the chair behind the desk and plopping down on it. The carefree attitude did not comfort the blondes in the least, for it was the only attitude the brown-eyed man seemed to possess.

"Is everything alright?" Francis asked, taking the lead seeing as Alfred was unable to speak, shaken by the recent events and especially the thought of his lover alone out there in the dark wilderness.

"Well, there are good news and bad news," the young doctor opened his files and spread a few sheets of paper, turning one towards the blondes. "See here, that's the result of the infection test. The good news is, you're not infected."

The blondes let out a loud breath of relief, and turned to each other, managing a small smile. The doctor gave them a moment to rejoice, then passed them another paper.

"Unfortunately, your general inspection, including internal and external inspection, did not come up too well. You're both severely dehydrated, weakened, exhausted and affected by low blood sugar, dental infections, lice and slowed reflexes. Mr Alfred's ankle is in quite a state, and Mr Francis, we're suspecting that you have been harbouring a small concussion for a while now. You also showed symptoms of a small flu, or a similar virus or bacteria you've contracted during your time out in unsanitary places and the wild, and since we cannot properly diagnose what that is, we can't give you the green light yet."

"But... we're not infected," Alfred looked up, confused.

"You're not infected, but we don't exactly know what an infection entails. We know the symptoms and their time of effect, but we have yet to figure out all the ways an infection can be contracted. We know it's by transmission of bodily fluids with an infected person, but tests are currently being conducted for ingestion of bodily fluids, airborne viruses, and infections through direct contact with bodily fluids, so we can't really give anybody a green light at all," the doctor shook his head gravely, though his youthful face did not make the crushing news seem so important.

"So what do we do?" Alfred asked, his throat going dry in panic. "D-Does this mean we can't go to Montreal? W-What's going to happen to us?"

"No, no, you'll go to Montreal on the first truck heading out tomorrow afternoon, but I'm afraid you'll be given two weeks of imposed quarantine before you're let out and allowed to go free. During those two weeks, you'll be locked up in a quarantined room and will have several tests conducted on you to make sure that you are not infected. At any tiny sign of having contracted an infection, you'll be executed." The atmosphere in the room seemed to drop several degrees and the blondes looked at each other urgently.

"Is there an alternative?" Francis asked hesitantly, unsure what to do. His thoughts were fuzzy with sleep, and probably that diagnosed concussion, and he couldn't even judge the situation appropriately.

"Of course." The doctor gathered all the papers and arranged them, slipping them back into his folder with a warm smile. "If you don't want to be quarantined, you don't get a ride to Montreal." He stood up, and began walking towards the door. The blondes turned to follow his movements nervously. "We'll let you go free right outside these gates, where we found you, with everything that you had with you upon your arrival: nothing more, nothing less." He opened the door and turned to them with a smile that suddenly did not seem too comforting anymore. "We'll record your names and your faces, and you'll be set free. And then... We'll pretend you don't exist anymore."

The air hung tense amongst all of them, and Alfred and Francis could not speak anymore. The prospect was a chilling one. To be forgotten and left out in the wilderness to die- or live, if they managed it right- without ever getting the occasion of returning to civilization ever again... It was a level of disturbing that was barely veiled by the doctor's tense smile.

"Good night, Mr Alfred, Mr Francis. Someone will escort you to your bunks shortly. Do hope to see you around again," Dr Vargas nodded at them, and finally left, the door clicking shut behind him ominously.

Alfred immediately turned to Francis, wordlessly looking into his eyes to figure out what he was thinking. Francis looked unsure, and suddenly, Alfred felt just as insecure.

"We did not come all this way to die," Francis finally mumbled out, turning his eyes away so that Alfred would not see how unconvinced he was of his own words.

"Arthur's waiting for us," Alfred agreed, doing the same thing. They fell into silence until two soldiers opened the door and escorted them out of Dr Vargas' office, across the military camp bustling with activity, and into a small tent lined with sleeping bags, some of which were occupied by sleeping people.

After brief orders regarding code of conduct, their arbitrary rights until they were cleared through quarantine, and information regarding breakfast and departure time, the blondes were left to their own devices. They picked adjacent sleeping bags and slid in, exhausted bodies letting them slip into sleep easily.

When a soldier came in for an early-morning round and checked up on the few survivors in the tent, he found everybody confined to their own sleeping bags, except the two newcomers. Francis had his back stuck to Alfred's, and Alfred had his arms around the empty sleeping bag next to him.

The soldier noted how something seemed to be missing from the picture.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

The ride to Montreal was far from comfortable. They were hitching on the back of a military truck heading to the Fortress-City for restocking on ammunition and weapons, as well as switching the staff at the outpost. A bunch of soldiers, shouldering their rifles and fiddling with their uniforms, were stuffed in the small truck, with the five survivors bunched together in front of the flap. Two soldiers flanked them, feet dangling out of the truck and hands on their guns, watching the scenery go by with trained eyes. Zombies came by in numbers, but not a single shot was fired. Alfred anxiously looked outside as they drove off, as if expecting to see something -or someone- he wanted to see, but nothing happened. An hour later, Montreal's bridges were in sight, and Alfred felt some kind of crushing desperation take control of his senses.

Arthur was not coming back.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

They were stopped at the bridge for a brief check of the vehicle and were let in without much fuss. The five survivors disembarked right after they crossed the bridge and got onto the island, the military truck continuing its journey as they were taken into charge by some nurses that escorted them in the back of another truck, towards the nearest hospital. This truck was a lot more spacious, and a sense of elation struck the survivors. Even if Alfred was worried about Arthur, he could not deny how relieved he was to be inside a Fortress-City at last, after months of being on the run and fearing for his life.

"Now upon entry at the hospital, please follow me down to the quarantine ward," the head nurse, a brunette with bright green eyes that made Alfred's breath hitch, instructed as they disembarked in front of the emergency entrance and were escorted through the sliding doors. "There, you'll be split up, questioned briefly, and be quarantined, each separately for the amount of time prescribed by your outpost doctor."

"Will we be able to see one another afterwards?" the woman with them asked, clutching her son's hand tightly.

"I'm afraid not, Ma'am. Once in quarantine, you are completely isolated from the world. Nobody can talk to you and you can't talk to anyone. Once outside of quarantine, though, you may inquire the state of your companions through the receptionist, or listen to the news at six every day, which will list the name and number of new refugees arriving in Montreal, as well as the name of any death inside the city, quarantine included," the nurse explained, and Alfred nervously fisted his hands.

"So we basically cannot contact the people we're with after this?" he ventured to ask, frozen at the idea of being left alone.

"You can inquire about them, but we don't keep tabs on patients, so we can't say where they are," the nurse sounded apologetic but she led them unwaveringly through a set of metallic double doors. People looked a lot more anxious now, eyes darting nervously at the silent compound with white walls and echoing tiled floors.

The nurse used an access card to open the next set of heavy metal doors, and led them into a waiting room. It felt a lot better in that room, carpet and posters giving a sense of normalcy to the hospital section, but the underlying knowledge of what exactly this section served for was enough to keep the unease of the refugees going high.

"Please sit down, and our receptionist will call your names. A doctor will see you, and then will lead you to your quarantine room," the nurse smiled, meant to be comforting. "If anything happens, see the receptionist, Miss Zwingli here," she presented the young blonde at the computer, who smiled and nodded. "And ask for nurse Elizaveta, that's me," she instructed and clasped her hands cheerfully. "If there are no more questions, then, I will take my leave. Good luck to you all!"

Nobody said a thing as Elizaveta moved to leave, the double doors clicking harshly behind her. Nothing here seemed to appease the unease within the survivors.

"Please sit down, I'll call your names alphabetically," the receptionist smiled at them, motioning the cushioned seats by the coffee table.

Alfred and Francis awkwardly shuffled towards the chairs and hesitantly took a seat.

"What will we do once we're out?" Alfred asked him, eager to break the silence.

"We'll attempt to find your brother. There has to be a finding system to locate names, numbers, anything," Francis suggested.

"Well... If you get out before me, you can look for Matthew Williams, or Matthew Williams-Jones. I don't know which he'd have given to authorities." Alfred fidgeted in his seat. "He looks like me, unless he's taken a 360 and has dyed his hair or something."

"We'll find one another again, and we'll find your brother," Francis grit his teeth, looking straight into Alfred's eyes. "We have to stick together. Arthur is not around anymore, and we are to one another what was closest to him. We'll keep his memory alive. And he'll live on in our memories."

"Don't say that." Alfred choked, suddenly aware of the tears pricking his eyes. He turned his gaze away. "He's not dead. He's gonna come back, I just know it." He didn't know what he would do without Arthur. Probably something stupid. Definitely something stupid.

"Alfred. We're not children anymore." Alfred turned his gaze back up to search Francis' tired eyes, and noted how the dirt and frown lines made him look a lot older and much more tired than he was in reality. He was suffering as much as Alfred, really, but Alfred refused to believe that anyone could feel something that could match the pain he felt. Francis was wrong.

He still was a child after so long. A mere child who was lost now, without anyone to hold his hand and assure him that everything will be alright.

"Francis Bonnefoy please!" The receptionist called, and both men's hearts skipped a beat.

"Well, Alfred, I will see you around, I guess," Francis stood up, as did Alfred, and offered the latter his hand. Alfred shook it as best as he could and smiled at his lover's best friend, giving him a one-armed hug.

"Good luck, man," he whispered, his stomach churning at the thought of what came next. "I'll see you on the outside."

"Goodbye," Francis nodded, and smiled. "Everything will be alright."

He wasn't the one Alfred wanted to hear it from, but he nodded and gave him a sad smile as he was escorted in through the door behind the receptionist.

The family huddled next to Alfred was talking in hushed whispers, both parents trying to comfort the sobbing boy. Alfred found it heartbreaking, but at the same time, had no sympathy for them.

His lover, his possible fiancée, the man who meant the greatest to him was gone, and Alfred felt so alone. Why was he the only one that suffered this way?

Through his haze of self-pity, he heard the name of the mother being called, and the child's cries doubled in intensity. The father kissed her one last time and she kissed her son's forehead gently before leaving. Alfred envied her. He found himself hoping she'd die. Maybe the bawling kid would grow up and realize how much Alfred was hurting.

But Arthur had always told him not to cast his bitterness upon others, so Alfred quickly regretted his thoughts and hung his head, the frustrated tears still clinging to his eyelashes. He had to keep collected.

But not with the kid screaming his lungs out next to him. What a brat, Alfred thought, sick and tired of hearing him bawl. It grated his nerves rather dangerously.

"Shut up!" he finally snapped after a moment, effectively shocking the kid and the father into silence. "Just stop crying," he repeated a bit more calmly. "Your mom's not dead. You're gonna see her again, alright?" Since when had this become a comforting session? "Just... Don't cry. She wouldn't have wanted you to." And Arthur wouldn't have wanted him to snap like that.

The tears burned even stronger.

"If you love your mom, you've got to stop crying for her," his voice cracked, and he ducked his face into his hands, embarrassed and heartbroken as tears rolled down his cheeks. "If you love someone, don't cry for them. If you love something, let it go."

Nobody spoke after that. They all listened to Alfred's soft sobbing until the receptionist called his name, and a doctor came to take him away.

What a hypocrite, he thought as he watched the kid sit straight and silent, all signs of life gone from his eyes.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

The medical exam and questioning were basically the same thing as what he'd gotten in the military camp, though this time, they didn't just diagnose, but treated as well. He ended up with a bunch of pills to take with every meal to battle the imprint that malnutrition for months had left on him, and a plastic cast and crutches for his ankle. The doctor informed him that he may come down with a bacterial infection of some sort as he'd been in very unsanitary places, and that anything less than feeling in shape should be recorded on the notebook provided for him. Alfred thanked him a bit dully and hobbled after him into a long grey hallway lined with white door.

Alfred shivered as they walked past a few of the doors labeled with numbers, hating how everything was so silent. No windows lined the hall, confirming that they were underground. Instead, bright neon lights lit his way, the strong smell of antiseptic burning his eyes. It was like they were trying to hide something. Perhaps the stench of death.

"In here," the doctor finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, ushering Alfred inside. The new room was tiny, an antechamber of some sort, separated into two doors. One of them was wooden with a lock, and another was metal, with locks, chains and a wooden bar.

Alfred immediately knew which one would be his front porch for the next two weeks.

"You'll live here for fourteen days. Your needs will all be catered to by an attendant. Your attendant will be the only person you come in contact with. Your attendant will bring you meals and do your laundry, as well as check the notebook we've left for you as a diary of sorts," the doctor explained, unlocking all the bolts and opening all the chains. "For your safety, you will be monitored by video and transcripts of everything that happens in there will be available."

The door opened with an ominous creak, and Alfred was led into a small room, sparsely furnished with a simple bed, a shelf of books, a table and a chair. Some magazines were strewn on the table, as well as office supplies. A red hardcover notebook was in the middle, and Alfred recognized it as his diary.

"The glass over there is one-way glass, and your attendant will stand on the other side from nine to nine every day. If anything happens beyond those hours, an emergency button is in the last drawer of your desk."

"Thanks," Alfred mumbled, shoving his hands in his pant pockets, even if he wasn't thankful at all. Being caged and observed like an animal didn't sit well with him, but it was either this or never seeing civilization again.

"Good luck, Mr Jones. Perhaps I will see you again on the outside," the doctor shook Alfred's hand.

"Yeah. Perhaps." The word chilled him to the bone, and he silently watched the doctor leave and bolt the door shut. A sense of dread was building inside of him.

To get rid of it, he explored, finding the adjacent bathroom. A stack of clean hospital pyjamas and underwear was waiting for him in a cupboard inside, along with towels. He immediately shed his clothes and threw them in the bin by the clean clothes, which he figured was the laundry basket, leaving his cast next to it and stepping into the shower. The water that fell on him immediately was burning hot and yet strangely soothing, as if burning every impurity right off of him.

And he wondered what Arthur was doing. And he realized that he didn't know. Maybe he was still on the run. Or maybe he'd gotten to St-Jean safely and was on his way to Montreal. Or maybe he wasn't.

Maybe he was dead. Maybe he was lying in a ditch, bleeding to death, or waiting for a wandering zombie to find him and eat him. Maybe he was a zombie already, attacking people like he used to be, tearing limbs and families apart to sate the unholy hunger in his head. If Alfred saw him, would he recognize him? Or was he already gone? What if he was dead not externally, but internally? What if he was alive, but terrorized, anguished, agonizing and crying for Alfred to help him, to come save him? And what if he died inside when he realized that Alfred was not coming?

Alfred realized he had sat down in the shower, and that his shoulders were burning with the steaming water. Perhaps this was his punishment for being alive when his lover possibly was not. The fiery tortures of hell had nothing on the guilt plaguing Alfred's heart.

By the time he stepped out of the shower, his back was an angry red, and stung when Alfred tried to dry himself off. He didn't want to cry, though. There was a type of crying that not even the cameras could capture, and that's what he'd been doing this entire time.

He'd been crying on the inside as his heart slowly shriveled up and dried out.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

His attendant came to see him for dinner, bringing in a tray of food for him and finding her charge curled up on his bed, motionless.

"Mr Jones?" she called hesitantly, shutting the door behind her and carefully approaching him. She'd had violent charges before, and her taser was comfortingly resting at her hip as an assurance that she'd be alright.

When her charge did not acknowledge her, she began getting worried. He was not moving, not even to breathe, and she'd seen the way he'd sat in the burning shower for half an hour, as if punishing himself for something he'd done wrong. Attendants were also supposed to report any strange behaviour from their charge, including signs of self-harm and depression. So far, they were not off to a great start.

"Mr Jones," she called a bit louder, stopping at the foot of his bed and waiting. Finally, her charge twitched and she let out a small breath of relief. The next moment, her turned around to face her, sunken eyes scouring a dead gaze over her.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice scratched.

"Hello," she greeted with a smile. "I'm Madeline, but you can call me Maddie. I'll be your attendant for the next two weeks. It's nice to meet you."

"Same," Alfred mumbled, thinking that her indigo eyes were too bright to be real. How could someone even be so happy in circumstances like these?

"I brought you dinner," Maddie motioned to the table, setting her tray down. "I'll get your laundry."

"Thanks," Alfred hummed, not very hungry. It was like the months he'd spent scavenging whatever sustenance he could find had turned his usually-bottomless stomach into a tiny, shriveled up organ.

Everything seemed to be dying.

By the time Maddie came back, he hadn't even moved to touch his food.

"Mr Jones..." Madeline sighed, carefully approaching him. "You haven't eaten."

"Don't want to."

"You must," she insisted in a soft voice. "Your file says you're suffering from anemia, vitamin deficiency, and beginnings of rickets, amongst others. It's important that you eat and take your pills."

"I don't want to," Alfred insisted.

"Sir, if it's a matter of your health, I am forced to report any incidents to the hospital, and we'll have to take action to feed you by force," she stood her ground firmly. "Please eat as much as you can manage and take your pills. If you don't think you can take solid food, I'll serve you liquid nutrition next time, but please make an effort."

Alfred looked at her, eyes darting back and forth between her pleading gaze and the platter on the table. Had he been himself, he would have jumped on the first food he'd been given and would have swallowed it without another word. But Arthur's disappearance had turned him into someone else, a shell of who he once was.

Arthur wouldn't have wanted him to die like this.

"I'm tired and I want to sleep," he mumbled, eyes trained on the tray.

"You are tired, understandably, but your weakness comes from all of these nutrition problems. Once you eat, you'll feel a lot better," Maddie smiled, gently touching his shoulder. "Let me help you to the chair."

"Thanks," Alfred finally agreed, letting the blonde help him out of bed and lead him to the table. His crutches were thrown against a wall and she didn't bother with those, simply helping him hobble over and sit down with a sigh.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr Jones. If anything, just call my name, I'll hear you through the other room," she patted his shoulder and exited the room, leaving Alfred with a tangerine, buttered toast, celery stalks, his pills, and an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

It was three days before Alfred finally began warming up to Maddie, resolving himself not to be down anymore. Arthur would not have wanted him to be depressed because of his absence, so Alfred took his own advice and decided to live while he was still alive.

It began with smiles and more thanks for everything she did for him, and turned into small talk when she brought him dinner. Of course, she wasn't allowed to stay and chat, but both of them could feel the atmosphere warming up a little.

Alfred had taken to writing in his diary. Madeline was glad to see him scribble and scratch in it, as often, patients disregarded the great tool that was the diary. She could only check the recordings at the end of his confinement, and was sure that if anything too important were to come up, Alfred would tell her in person, and not just write it in his diary.

Boredom was the most vicious enemy, of course, and definitely put a damper on Alfred's mood all the time. He tried reading the books, but he'd never been one to read. He asked Maddie for comic books and zoomed through the ones he was given. He did doodle a lot, too, but quickly ran out of ideas. He asked Maddie if he could get video games, but she told him that electronics were a lot harder to come by, and hadn't gotten her hands on one ever since. She did bring him a pack of cards, though, and with the glue in his drawer, Alfred built a very nice replica of Big Ben that he put on his table and looked at every night before going to sleep.

"Alfred, lunch," Maddie announced her presence to him as she walked in.

"Hey Mads," Alfred replied, distractedly waving to her as he sketched a portrait of someone's face. He'd tied his hair in a ponytail to get the long strands out of his face and had set his glasses down to rest his tired eyes as he worked, completely concentrated on his task.

"What are you drawing?" Maddie asked, smiling at him.

"It's Arthur," Alfred replied without turning to face her.

"Isn't that who you've drawn four times already?" his attendant asked, suddenly uncomfortable as she glanced at the four unfinished sketches of the same face in different angles taped on the wall next to Alfred's bed. "Who is he anyway?" She knew that survivors often had lost loved ones in the apocalypse and knew to keep her distance during talk of such delicate matters.

"He's my boyfriend," Alfred replied, gaze sinking to his portrait. "Was. Was my boyfriend."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Maddie quickly apologized, having guessed already.

"Nah, don't be. I don't even know if he's dead or not." Alfred bit his lip, remembering the horrible memories. "We were stuck in a house and he went out alone to be a decoy for the zombies outside so that we could escape. Haven't heard of him since." His voice was scratchy with unshed tears.

"What a brave man," Madeline sighed, coming closer and setting the platter down on the corner of the desk and putting a hand supportively on Alfred's shoulder.

"I wanted to propose to him. Be happy even in times like these. He's most likely dead now, though." Alfred rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Arthur..."

"Are you alright?" Maddie ventured to ask.

"I can't ever get him right," Alfred muttered, frustrated as he returned to his drawing. "His eyes. I can't ever draw his eyes the way they looked. He was so alive." Alfred bit his lip. "And now he's a bunch of lines on paper."

"Alfred..." Madeline sighed sympathetically, rubbing his back. "Nothing can do him more justice than the memories you have of him."

"I just want to see him again," Alfred's voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. Once he was calm again, he turned around finally look at his attendant and smile through the tears clouding his blue eyes. "But thanks, Maddie."

Madeline did not reply, for something akin to shock had vibrated inside of her at the sight of Alfred's figure, tired, worn expression, eyes red from holding back tears, without his glasses, hair tied up, and the small, shy, sad smile on his lips. He looked so... familiar.

"Maddie?" Alfred asked, worried when his attendant did not reply, frozen expression of surprise on her face. "You okay?" He reached out to touch her arm, and she flinched

"S-Sorry!" she stammered, blushing. "I just thought you looked like someone I knew." Gathering her bearings, Madeline quickly shuffled back a few steps and averted her gaze. "I-I've stayed too long. I have to go!" And then she just turned around and began walking to the door, head hung.

"Huh. Dunno who would ever be able to share my good looks," Alfred chuckled, watching her go in confusion, wondering if perhaps they'd seen each other prior to the apocalypse. But Madeline had a softer Canadian accent, so it was unlikely that she'd been from the USA. She'd probably lived in Canada all her life, and wouldn't have seen him even once.

And then it clicked in his head, because there indeed was someone that shared his so-called 'good looks'.

"Maddie?" he called back after her, throat suddenly locking up when she kept walking and began unlocking the door. "Maddie, wait!"

Her movements hastened, and she opened the door with an ominous creak.

"Mads, this is important!" Alfred pushed out of his chair with the intention of catching her, but his heart twisted as the abrupt movement caused his ankle to let go and sweep the ground right from under him. By the time he'd painstakingly pushed himself back to his feet, Maddie was gone.

"Maddie!" he called again, knowing that she'd be listening from behind the one-sided glass. "Do you know someone that looks like me?" His heart fluttered at the thought. "Maddie, please answer!"

Predictably, nothing answered to him. So he tried one last time.

"Maddie, I have a twin brother!"

The discouraging silence stood strong, but a new wave of hope had washed over Alfred. Picking up his glasses, he eagerly returned to his drawing, no longer concentrating on death, but on life.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

To his dismay, Maddie was not the one who brought him dinner. It was a very hot-tempered nurse, who oddly reminded Alfred of the doctor back in St-Jean with that curl on the side of his head. He didn't have time to catch his name, even, trying to catch the platter that the nurse practically threw at him instead. While he struggled to keep his bowl of stew in balance, the nurse just stalked back out, complaining to himself about 'those goddamn quarantine attendants that call in sick', and leaving Alfred to his own worry for the rest of the night.

Breakfast saw Maddie's return and Alfred was strangely relieved. He wanted to know if she was acquainted with Matthew, but was unsure about asking her. Thankfully, Maddie brought the subject up herself when Alfred asked if she felt better.

"I'm sorry I called in sick. I, uhh... Had some trouble concentrating last night and didn't want to harm you somehow," she apologized quietly, leaving his cream cheese bagel on his table and handing him the cup with his first set of pills along with a glass of orange juice.

"I'm sorry I pressured you," Alfred mumbled in return, swallowing the two pills with a gulp of juice each.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," Madeline laughed. "I just... I was surprised. Matthew never mentioned having a twin."

"So you do know him?" Alfred perked up, accepting the second set of pills as his heartbeat accelerated.

"Yeah. Matthew is a nurse up in the ICU, you know. He was the one who gave me my formation when I applied for being a quarantine attendant." She blushed at the next part. "We tried dating for a while, but both of us were too busy to keep it up and broke up. We've drifted apart for a while now, so I was surprised when I saw you with your hair tied up and without your glasses. You looked just like him," she explained.

"Is he alright?" Alfred asked, extremely interested and swallowing his pills without even realizing it.

"He looks exhausted, but who isn't nowadays?" Maddie gave a sad smile. "It's a terrible world out there. Sometimes, I envy those who stay in quarantine for a long time. Such an easy life."

"Is it really that bad?" Alfred frowned, getting off his bed and moving to the table to eat his breakfast.

"It's... Not very nice. Still, we're all trying to survive, aren't we?" She shrugged and began walking off again. "At least we don't have to worry about zombies. As a Fortress-City, and one of the last ones on the East Coast, Montreal is extremely well protected."

"Can you contact Matthew somehow?" Alfred turned around in his chair, watching Maddie walk away nervously.

"I... I can try. I can't leave the quarantine ward during my shift, and I don't know what his new shifts are, so I can try." She stopped for a second to fumble with the lock and opened the door. "I've talked too much."

As she left, Alfred wondered if she knew that without her bouts of 'too much talking', Alfred would have gone mad already.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

"Maddie, this really isn't the best time," Matthew sighed as he stumbled after her in the white hallways of the hospital. "I have thirty minutes for dinner and I can't really leave my unit in case I get paged. What do you need?"

"I've got something to show you," Maddie just told him, her walk brisk and quick. "I've been holding it off for a few days because I couldn't get a hold of you, but I think it's rather urgent."

"Gosh, Madeline, it better be worth my dinner break," Matthew chuckled tiredly, waiting for her to open the magnetic locks to the quarantine ward before following her in. They both waved at Lili, the receptionist, who looked surprised to see them, and then proceeded to the hallway lined with the doors to the quarantine rooms.

Everything was silent except for the echo of their footsteps on the high ceiling. Maddie led the walk, Matthew following curiously, and wondering what was so important that his ex would come and find him at 9:30PM, just to lead him down to the quarantine ward. He guessed that he'd find out in a second when Madeline unlocked the first door and led him to the wooden door on the left.

The inside of the observation room was small, with a door for the adjacent bathroom. The area was clogged with paper files, a whiteboard, and a long table lined with audio machines, transcript machines, a computer and printer and a video control centre that showed footage of the bathroom on its screen. The one-way glass covered the entirety of the wall, giving a large, clear view of the quarantine room and its occupant.

Matthew looked around the observation room, curious with all the technology.

"What's up, then, Maddie?" he finally asked, turning to her.

"I wanted you to meet my charge. He has been adamant on meeting you for the past few days," Maddie smiled, pointing to the bed. Alfred had his back turned to the window, taping his latest sketch of Arthur next to the others.

"Who?" Matthew blinked, getting closer to the glass to get a better look at the man.

His breath caught in his throat when Alfred turned around and slid off the bed to return to his desk, briefly giving him a view of his face. Literally a view of his very own face.

"Alfred?" he whispered, eyes widening as he watched him hobble to his desk and sit down. Matthew turned to Madeline, a billion questions in his eyes.

"Alfred F. Jones, shipped here from St-Jean a week ago, set for 14 days of quarantine," Maddie smiled at his astonishment. "I thought I recognized him and he told me about you. He really wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, oh god, it's him," Matthew gaped at her and turned back around to look at Alfred. "Oh dear lord, it's Alfred, he's alive, he's alive," he whispered to himself in awe. "Is he okay?" he asked, turning around to face his brother's attendant.

"He's recovering," Maddie assured him kindly. "He had a second-degree ankle sprain when he came in, along with a rainbow of problems related to malnutrition, and some hygiene-based infections, but he isn't the worst I've ever seen."

"God, he's so thin," Matthew shakily commented. "He used to be chubby, can you imagine?"

"He's very stressed and hasn't eaten properly in months," Maddie shook her head sadly. "He couldn't stomach much at the beginning of the week but he's made good progress so far."

"Oh gosh, Alfred..." Matthew put his hands against the glass, watching his brother draw. "How's he doing, uhh... Psychologically? I've heard that a lot of survivors go crazy with PTSD or grief once they return to civilization." He wouldn't ever be the same if the Alfred in front of him was not the same as the one he used to know.

"He's doing better. He wouldn't talk or eat very willingly during the first days, slept almost all day long and tended to take a lot of really burning showers. I haven't checked his diary yet, but I talked to him, and he was rather upset by his boyfriend's disappearance. That's whose portrait is hung up all over the wall there." Madeline pointed to the bed. "He's a lot more talkative and optimistic now, though, and I haven't picked up signs of self-harm in a while."

"Maddie, that's my little brother in there," Matthew spoke as if he were out of breath. "Please, please, I beg of you, I have to make sure he's okay."

"I can't let you talk to him." Madeline averted her eyes. "It's against quarantine policy."

"Please!" Matthew tried raising his voice, hoping that perhaps, somehow, Alfred would hear him through the glass. "Please, I haven't seen him in years and haven't been able to talk to him ever since the first wave of the infection spread in southern USA. Please, I need to talk to him!"

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I can't let you. All the technical equipment goes automatic after 9PM and only comes back into my control at the beginning of my shift, at 9AM. This includes the door, which only opens at set hours of the day so I can bring him his food." She shook her head sadly. "There is literally no way you can talk to him right now."

"You can't do this, Maddie!" Matthew shook his head, glaring at Alfred's turned back. "He's my twin brother and I haven't so far been sure that he's even alive. Now you just bring me to him and you tell me I can't talk to him?" He gritted his teeth.

Maddie remained painfully silent.

"Damn it!" Matthew exclaimed in an uncharacteristically angry moment where he slammed his fist on the glass and listened to it vibrate.

Alfred jumped from his place on the table, immediately spinning around off the chair to duck to his knees. Matthew's heart skipped a beat when Alfred's hand flew to his belt, and when he found nothing, he calmed down, getting back up and glaring at the glass in confusion.

"Come on, Al..." Matthew bit his lip before tapping the glass again, a few times in a row.

Alfred furrowed his brows and hesitated before he strode over to where the noise came from, putting his hand against the glass. Out of reflex, Matthew put his own hand against the window as well, wishing that the thin layer of glass did not separate his twin and him.

Alfred, too, seemed to realize that something was up and brought his face closer, leaning his forehead against the glass to try and see what was inside.

"Al..." Matthew whispered, leaning his forehead against the cool glass as well and breathing deep, fighting back tears when he reminded himself that Alfred was so close but could neither see nor hear him.

"I can tell him you came tomorrow morning," Madeline suggested, unwilling to interrupt his moment.

"Please do. Do you think you could also tell me when he's discharged?" Matthew asked, not taking his eyes off of Alfred, who was scouting the darkness for some kind of clue. Even in the darkness, his eyes were such a bright, innocent blue.

"He'll be out in seven days. I can give him your address, if you want, so that he could immediately go to your house afterwards," she suggested.

"Yes, please do." Matthew nodded vigorously, drawing away from the glass when Alfred did, apparently deciding that there was nothing of interest behind the glass. "I'll write it on a paper and you have to make him memorize it. They won't let him take anything out with him except his knowledge."

"I'll do it." Seeing as Matthew had not moved his hands from the glass even if Alfred had moved to the desk again, Madeline put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly. "I'll tell him everything, don't worry. You shouldn't preoccupy yourself, I'll take care of him. Go have dinner, it's late."

"No," Matthew shook his head, still watching his brother. "I'm not hungry." He suddenly turned to look at Maddie imploringly. "Can I stay a little longer?"

And Madeline didn't have the heart to say no.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

The rest of the week passed without incident. Alfred was overjoyed to hear from Matthew and eagerly memorized his address, counting the days and hours until the time he could be free and see his brother. Madeline was just as diligent as ever, providing Alfred with pockets of conversation in otherwise monotone days and keeping his spirit alive. On Day 12, the doctor from before came by his room to conduct a few tests, checking for the presence of infection in his system and his recovery progress on the many problems he had.

The test results were in by Day 13, and Madeline brought in his lunch and pills with a bright smile, announcing that he'd be let out tomorrow. No one was as enthusiastic as Alfred through.

Eagerly spending his last day in his prison cell by drawing more portraits of Arthur, he asked Maddie to ask around for another survivor named Francis and tell Matthew that once released, he'd have to come with them. Maddie noted that down, glad that Alfred was a lot better than when he came in, and cheerfully brought his last supper before wishing him luck, getting a hug, and leaving for good.

When she came back the next morning, Alfred was predictably gone, discharged before her shift began. She meticulously began cleaning up for the next charge she'd be assigned, regretfully throwing the unfinished sketches of Arthur's face in the recycling bin. In a wistful mood, Maddie then picked up the red diary, bent on flipping through it to make sure that Alfred hadn't recorded anything too important.

But he had, and worryingly so.

Every single page in the diary had one word scratched on it in red pen, some pages ripped from the intensity of the pen's pressure. The running ink and haphazard lines chilled Madeline to the bone.

_ARTHUR_

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Alfred was discharged without incident, given clothes that obviously had been picked up at a flea market, and handed enough money for public transport and some food. He briefly thought about visiting Matthew, but if his brother was a nurse in the ICU as Maddie had told him, he'd be way too busy to give any attention to his newfound twin.

Instead, he walked to a nearby internet café that the receptionist pointed him and paid a bit to find out how to use public transport to get to Matthew's house. Carefully saving his money, he rode across the dirty streets, watching the desolate view go by. Dirty, homeless children were running around in the streets, trying to play with their meager possessions while the adults stood at every corner, newspapers open in search of job offers and hands out for the rare spare change.

Alfred felt sick. Almost as sick as the world they live in. Or were they not living anymore, but surviving simply?

The bus left him next to a park that probably must have been beautiful before weeds and garbage took it over. Alfred carefully walked through the streets and stopped in front of the duplex that his brother lived in. The only thing he had left to do was get in. Which, he realized, was an impossible task since he didn't have any keys.

Sighing, he slid down next to the door and removed his glasses, folding them and rubbing his forehead tiredly. He hadn't thought this far. Maybe he'd just wait for Matthew. How long was Matthew's shift anyway? He didn't know anything substantial or anything that would help him get off the front porch.

And so he sat and let his imagination wander.

He thought of so many things, his life now that he was safe, his life with his brother, his life without Arthur... He wondered if he'd ever fall in love like that again. It seemed highly unlikely, considering how hard Alfred had fallen and how much he'd been ready to sacrifice for him.

He thought about it for what felt like ages, but in reality, it was only about an hour and a half. The morning sky had turned grey with rainclouds, but Alfred didn't care anymore. He'd already been through so much that nothing could compare anymore. He dozed off on the front porch a little, glasses dangling from his hand, semi-aware of the fact that he was a prime mugging target, but confident in his hand-to-hand skill.

He was awoken by clattering footsteps on the pavement and a hit to the head with what he realized, as he woke up with a jolt, was an umbrella.

"Off the front porch, you little bum!" A shaky voice cried out, raspy with use. Rubbing his eyes, Alfred looked up sleepily, able to make out the hunched shape of an old lady threateningly holding her umbrella to protect herself and the bag of groceries on her arm.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he mumbled out, still slightly dazed. He stood up to leave, and the lady followed him with a stern gaze. The stern gaze melted into something more warm, though, as Alfred drew to his full height.

"Oh, dear! Matthew, is that you?" she asked hesitantly. "Dear, I'm so sorry I hit you! I thought you were another bum on the street."

"Uhm..." Alfred tried to tell her that he was Matthew's twin brother, but quickly changed his mind. It wasn't every day that someone mistook HIM for Matthew. Usually it was the other way around. "I forgot my keys at work. I was waiting for you to return."

"Oh you silly boy. Must be the crazy shifts they're making you work, you poor thing. Speaking of which, don't you work until night?" The old lady pulled her keys out of her purse.

"I uhh... Got out early today." Alfred judged his next words carefully. "My... My brother is getting out of quarantine tonight, so I came home early to prepare for his arrival."

"Oh, I'm so happy for you, darling," the lady laughed, opening the door. "Now get my groceries for me, will you? These old bones can barely support me anymore. I'll bake you some pie to celebrate, eh?" she laughed.

"Yes Ma'am," Alfred sighed out in relief when she opened the door, picking up her groceries for her. Making small talk that made Alfred slightly uncomfortable, she took the lead towards her door, at ground level, then handed Alfred her keys.

"Be quick about it," she hummed good-naturedly, and Alfred thanked her profusely before running up the flight of stairs and trying a few keys before finding the one that opened Matthew's flat. He returned the keys to the old lady and wished her a nice day before returning to his brother's flat.

The interior smelled stale, and the state of the house was not better. Matthew obviously had not had time to clean things up lately, and according to what the old lady had said, he was working demon shifts from dusk to dawn. Unsurprising that he'd neglected to take care of himself in the meantime.

Perhaps Alfred could make himself useful.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Matthew came home at 11:36PM with aching feet and a headache. His duplex was quiet as he entered through the front and painfully trudged upstairs to his door. He was excited to see his brother again, of course, but right now, he just wanted to sleep.

Pushing the door open, he was smacked in the face by the smell of warm stew and clean laundry, furrowing his brows as he kicked off his shoes and closed the door. The buzzing of the television came from the living room.

"Hello?" he called as he walked in carefully, looking around. Entering the living room, he immediately spotted Alfred, sprawled on the couch, lightly dozing off. "Al..." His breath caught in his throat at the sight of his brother, thinner and paler than he'd last seen him, but alive and well and safe and alive.

Matthew stumbled to the couch, falling to his knees and sobbing in relief. Alfred woke up to his sobs and joined him, holding him and rocking him as he promised himself to never let go whoever was precious to him ever again.

He'd made that mistake once, and he would never make it again.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Matthew found that life became a lot easier with Alfred around. His job did not pay enough to keep both of them content on a long term, but they would survive rather well. Alfred, extremely proficient with mathematics, began taking care of their finances, and stayed at home to clean, cook, do the groceries and the laundry for Matthew, who often left early and came home late and did not have time for any of that. With Alfred at home, Matthew was able to feel a lot more relaxed at work, and it would be a lie if he said that he didn't appreciate the proper lunches and dinners that Alfred packed for him.

Francis joined them four days later, having gotten an extension on his quarantine to take care of his concussion. Alfred told Matthew about their survival story and Matthew was extremely grateful to Francis for having kept his brother alive, but he hadn't thought that the Frenchman would be so handsome. The desire to date sparked back to life when Francis walked through the door. He was very glad to have him over, but kept his distance so that he didn't hurt Alfred.

Getting interested in his twin's deceased fiancée-to-be's best friend was not exactly his idea of dealing with Alfred's hidden depression.

Maddie told him about the diary, and Matthew was sure to keep an eye on Alfred. He seemed happy by day but Matthew knew better when he felt him shake in his arms at night, whimpering and crying in his sleep. Matthew never mentioned these nights to Alfred, and Alfred, if he was aware of them, was eager not to bring them up.

Francis was great with people and quickly found himself volunteering at a soup kitchen all day long every day. His ankle still hurt, Alfred was unable to move around very well, so he stayed home and tried not to get bored. He applied for Montreal refugee status for himself and Francis, and with their qualifications, got their arbitrary 'citizenship' in the span of a month. Now possessing a social identity, Francis and Alfred set out to find paying jobs.

It was not easy. All of the bums on the street used to be Montrealers who lost their homes and jobs, and who were out looking for jobs as well, so they had a lot of competition. With his proficiency for fighting and survival, Alfred enlisted in the militia of the Fortress-City, which paid its members slightly illegal wages, but that was enough to bring home a substantial amount of money. He hoped that during one of his shifts guarding the bridges, he'd find a truck bringing in survivors, and would find Arthur in them. As for Francis, he was able to negotiate low wages at the soup kitchen, and the lack of volunteers, especially with Francis' skill, constrained them to pay him for his hours.

The slightly higher income in the Williams-Jones household was an added plus and Matthew was glad that they both had something to keep their thoughts off the apocalypse.

It did not last long. Four months after they moved in with Matthew, Alfred got sick. At first, Matthew thought he'd gotten a virus of some sort and gave him painkillers for his migraine and weakness, calling him in sick for work. Alfred had trouble moving around for the entire week, sluggish and silent, prone to dozing off on the couch and waking up in pain. When he stopped eating, Matthew got seriously worried.

He asked around the hospital during his lunch hour, trying to understand what had gone so wrong with his brother. He'd been doing so well with his recovery, too. The cast had come off two weeks after he moved in and the pills had stopped a week later. He looked happy.

He looked happy.

The migraines, back pain, exhaustion, weight loss and lack of appetite were, according to one of the doctors that liked eating with the nurses, symptoms of depression. Matthew was immediately alarmed and asked for advice. The only substantial answer he was given was being there for support until Alfred could land a consultation to evaluate his mental state.

When Matthew got home, Alfred was curled up on the couch and was crying, trying to smother his sobs. Matthew rocked him to sleep, and once he was snoring softly, he went to find Francis, hunched over the kitchen table, staring at a cup of cold coffee.

"It's their three-year anniversary in two weeks," he simply explained without looking up. "Would have been."

Matthew wondered when things had gone so wrong.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

June 6th came and passed, and Alfred got even worse. He barely spoke anymore and spent his days on the couch, staring blankly at the television all day long. He constantly had a blanket around his shoulders, as if he were constantly cold, even in the heat of summer. Francis hypothesized that he wanted something to comfort him at all times, a kind of replacement for a human being when nobody was around.

He was given unpaid leave for sickness at his job, but the militia kept him as a precious contact for whenever he got better. If he did get better at all.

Instead, he seemed to cultivate his bonds with whatever documentary showed on the television, but never registered anything from what he saw. Matthew was terrified of the blankness that covered his gaze.

And every evening, systematically at six o' clock sharp, Alfred got up, turned the television off and huddled on the couch, terrifyingly still. Sometimes he cried, and sometimes he didn't, but the silence in the living room was horrifying. It went on for about ten minutes, before Alfred turned the television back on and returned to normal, whatever his scary 'normal' was.

Matthew got Alfred a consultation with a doctor formed especially for PTSD, trauma and depression patients, and got prescribed antidepressants. Finances dropped in the household, even though there were virtually only two people left to feed under the same roof, and things started looking bleak. Matthew suspected that Alfred was not taking his pills as he needed to, and began, out of desperation, physically forcing him to take his medicine. Alfred was too weak to push him off, so he cried every time.

And Matthew did too.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Madeline found Matthew again during his dinner break about 5 months after they'd last spoken. The first thing she noticed was how much more stressed and tired he seemed, dozing off on his coffee, which she suspected was the only thing he was having for dinner. Picking up a croissant on her way to where he sat alone, she slid into the seat in front of him and pushed the croissant towards him.

"I'm not in the mood," Matthew sighed, shaking his head at her.

"You look like you could use it," Maddie insisted.

"Don't want to," he turned his eyes away from her, cradling his coffee.

"Take it as a bribe. Eat this and I'll tell you something you'll definitely want to know." The woman gently touched Matthew's hand.

So her surprise, Matthew pushed her hand off roughly with a frustration that she hadn't ever seen inside of him in all the time she'd known him.

"Madeline, please don't try this with me," he growled, glaring at her as if she was the one at fault. "I haven't slept well in weeks, I can't spend a waking moment being optimistic, I'm struggling to make ends meet, my brother is dying, and I can't work like this anymore. So unless whatever you're trying to tell me is going to get Alfred out of his depression and magically make my life bright enough for me to regain my appetite, I won't fucking touch anything you try to bribe me with!"

"Matthew, please calm down," Madeline glared right back with a determination she didn't know she possessed.

"No. I'm going back to work," Matthew huffed, getting up and violently pushing his chair. Madeline acted fast, getting up as well and grabbing his wrist, pulling him close.

"Matthew Williams, you listen to me, or I swear, I will never forgive you. Don't let your goddamn frustration take control, and especially not on me, since I'm just here to tell you that we've found Arthur fucking Kirkland, and you have your head too far up your ass to even listen to me!"

Matthew stropped struggling and when she was sure that she had his attention, she let him go.

"Sit back down and eat that croissant," she ordered, taking the initiative and sitting down.

"Are you being serious?" Matthew asked quietly, sitting back down and tearing a piece of croissant that he gingerly put in his mouth.

"I wouldn't dare lie to you. I wouldn't have come to see you after so long to lie to you," she smiled. "The attendants all went out for a late dinner the other night, once we all got off work, and even though we're not supposed to, after a few drinks, some of us began talking about our patients." She blushed at that, and Matthew raised a brow, unimpressed. "Amelia, one of my colleagues, was really open about hers. I mean, she didn't spill confidential information, but she did mention how large his eyebrows were, and how he tried to speak under drug influence and his British accent was so garbled, even the transcript machine didn't get anything."

"So you asked?" Matthew looked up, his heart skipping a beat. Could it really be his brother's boyfriend who had come up, after so many months of being lost?

"I asked his name. She was lucid enough to tell me she couldn't divulge it, so I just pulled her to the side after we left and told her it was a matter of life and death. She took it seriously, but I got my information." She pulled her backpack to the front and dug out a folded paper, handing it to Matthew. "Arthur Kirkland, 26 years old, born on April 23, blood type O positive. Originally from London, England, moved to Boston, Massachusetts to continue his studies in Literature. Amelia gave me an overview of his file and I wrote down everything you might want to know."

Matthew took the paper and peeked into it, recognizing Madeline's scratchy handwriting. He immediately folded the paper against and slid it into his blue uniform pocket, looking up at her gratefully.

"Thank you so much," he rasped out, tears of relief and exhaustion welling up in his eyes. "I didn't think I'd be able to do this any longer. Alfred's gotten really bad."

"It was my pleasure. I'm sorry I can't help more. If ever you need someone to keep him company at night, you can always call me. I'm open after my shift." She smiled to comfort him and patted his hand. "Tell Alfred that his drawings are very accurate. They're the only reason why I recognized Arthur's description."

"I dunno if I'll tell him yet," Matthew shook his head. "This is a huge shock. Perhaps I'll wait until Arthur is out, and discuss it with him first."

"Whatever you do, I hope it works out for you." Madeline got up, and so did Matthew, leaning in to hug her. She left a kiss on his cheek and pulled away. "You deserve to be happy, Matthew." She began walking away. "You, and everyone you care about."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Matthew did not tell Alfred that Arthur had finally resurfaced. The paper that Maddie handed him did not bear excellent news, and Matthew was not sure if Alfred needed to hear that right now. With multiple lacerations to the stomach, a concussion, broken leg and blood poisoning from various infections, Arthur had been pulled from a car wreck not far from where Ottawa used to be, now just another military outpost like St-Jean, along with his group of five other individuals. According to the only one of the six that was still lucid, they encountered a pack of zombies on the street and could not avoid them, and crashing into them caused the first car to flip. The other car with the others in it behind them couldn't brake in time and crashed into the first.

Thankfully, neither car caught fire, and only the back passenger of the second car got hurt, hitting his head against the glass. The two in the second car killed off all the zombies and one of them stayed to keep watch on their companions while the first drove to Ottawa for help. The rescue operation was overseen by military personnel from Ottawa, who pulled Arthur and the two others in the first car from the wreck, and took them to Ottawa, then Montreal. The report mentioned how bad his condition was, and Matthew did not want to give Alfred false hope. So he didn't tell him that his lover was just past his reach.

To his surprise, Maddie collaborated with her fellow attendant, Amelia, to get Matthew all of the important reports about Arthur's condition. A week and a half after he was put into quarantine, he was taken out of his medically-induced coma. Two weeks later, he was deemed fit enough to leave and was cleared from quarantine.

And Matthew swore to him that he'd never miss an occasion like this to fix things for good.

Alfred still seemed to be conscious enough to realize that his brother was hiding something wrong him, and drew even more into himself. Matthew didn't mind it too much, as everything would be alright soon.

The big day came too slowly. Telling Alfred some poorly-constructed lie about taking Francis on a friendly date, Matthew took his day off of work and dragged Francis on a small shopping session to find better-suited clothes for Arthur. Francis could barely hold still, too, so they had a very quick lunch in a café close to the hospital, and then rushed to catch Arthur when he came out. Using his nurse's access card, Matthew entered the hallway leading to the quarantine ward and waited by the door, just to make sure that Arthur would not go the wrong way and miss them entirely. Soon enough, the magnetic-locked doors on the other side of the hallway opened, and Matthew recognized Lili holding the door for a blond on crutches. Matthew's breath caught in his throat.

The man was dressed in typical hospital-provided clothes and had a bandage wrapped around his head. He thanked Lili with a nod and began walking off, the click of his crutches disrupting the silence of the hallway. He had a cast around his leg that looked rather painful, and Matthew instinctively took a step closer to help him out. That's when Arthur noticed him, about halfway across the hallway.

"Arthur Kirkland?" Matthew finally called, seeing as he wasn't being subtle.

"That's me," the blond with the British accent raised one of his gigantic eyebrows. "May I help you?"

"I need you to come with me. It's very important," Matthew waited for him to join him and then began walking towards the door out of the quarantine ward.

"Who's asking?" Arthur asked, suspiciously eyeing the other blonde and finding something oddly familiar about him.

"My name is Matthew Williams-Jones," he introduced himself, holding the door open for Arthur, whose eyes went wide with recognition. "And I am Alfred F. Williams-Jones', your lover's, twin brother."

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Arthur teased Francis about crying like a little girl when they saw each other at last in the hospital lobby, but the truth was that he was no different. Once so scared of finding civilization and feeling so alone, he thanked whatever force of nature or supernatural was listening that he was able to find the ones he loved again.

Matthew did not waste any time in taking Arthur and Francis back home, but only mentioned Alfred once they got on the last bus that would take them back.

"Alfred's waiting at home." He started soft.

"I miss him so," Arthur sighed, a gentle smile on his face. Francis massaged his hand with his fingers, as if warning him. "How has he been?"

"Alfred, is, uhh..." Matthew was not sure how to put it. "... sick."

"Sick?" Arthur immediately perked up, squeezing Francis' hand a little. "Oh, I hope he'll be alright. What does he have?"

"He's, well..." Matthew felt uncomfortable with his words. "He's depressed."

"Oh." Matthew felt insulted when Arthur's posture relaxed, as if depression was not something important. "I thought he had some kind of terminal illness and had only a month left to live."

"Yes, well, if it goes on like this, that's what'll happen," he grumbled, catching Arthur's attention once more. "He's severely depressed, and it shows. He won't eat, he won't speak, he won't sleep, has nightmares when he does, he spends his days on the couch doing nothing, he cries a lot and he refuses to take his antidepressants." He glared at Arthur, who gradually became more and more alarmed. "He's killing himself more and more every day."

"He promised me he wouldn't," Arthur uttered out, shocked. "He promised me back when we were in that house and we had a close call... He promised me!" His grip on Francis' hand got tighter.

"What's a promise to a dead man?" Matthew sighed, glad that Arthur finally understood that Alfred was not okay. "He hasn't been the same since he first got to Montreal."

"H-How long has he been like this?" Arthur asked, horrified at what he heard.

"The intense depression started in mid-May, and got worse past your third year anniversary." Matthew shook his head, and pressed the button to request for the bus to stop at the next corner. "He's sinking deeper every day."

"And does he know that I'm not dead?" Arthur asked, glancing up nervously at Francis, who looked away.

"I haven't told him. I didn't want to give him false hope." Matthew shook his head, helping Francis lift Arthur out of his seat and onto his crutches. "He's in a very fragile mental state. Any sort of shock could drive him over the edge now."

"Over the edge." Arthur shivered violently and followed Matthew to the front of the bus. When it stopped, Francis helped him disembark, and they began walking towards Matthew's flat.

"Francis," Arthur mumbled, slowing down just a little to let Matthew take some of the lead. Francis slowed down as well to walk with him. "It's my fault."

"It's not," Francis immediately replied, knowing where this conversation was going. "Arthur, don't blame yourself. You did all you could, and you came back, as opposed to having been gone for good."

"But I lingered for so long..." Arthur sighed, eyes downcast. "That night I left, I got hurt and fell and waited to die. The group's leader, Gilbert, found me, chopped down all the zombies that would have eaten me and helped me out. I joined their team, and we had every intention of going for Montreal, but the road was full of zombies and we had no firearms, so we backtracked to the US to find some ammunition. From then on, there was a huge fight inside of the group, our camp was overrun, we had to regroup and plan, and just... It was a mess."

"See? You couldn't have come faster than you did," Francis assured him.

"No, I could have. I should have. I should have left the following morning and have run to St-Jean instead of following them to the US. They promised security, food, and companionship, and I was scared and hopeless, so I said yes," Arthur mumbled, guilt practically bleeding out of his eyes. "And I did this to him. It's my fault."

"Arthur, please... It's not your fault," Francis insisted, helping him up the steps of Matthew's front porch. "And even if it was, you now have every opportunity to make it right. He'll be so relieved to see you again, I know it."

"Speaking of which." Matthew cut into their conversation, beginning to climb the stairs to his door. "Alfred is really fragile right now, and I don't want to shock him with anything. You can come in, and he'll probably be in the living room, but stay hidden until I tell you to come out. I'll ease him into the subject, and we'll take it slowly."

"Fair enough," Arthur gulped down nervously and hopped up the stairs with Francis' help. Matthew opened the door, which swung with an ominous creak, and led them inside. The first thing they all noticed was how the flat smelled funny.

"Alfred," Matthew called, striding in without taking his shoes off. "Alfred, we're home."

Predictably, nobody answered. The silence chilled Arthur to the bone. He couldn't even tell that Alfred was in the house. He'd never felt anything scarier in his life.

"Alfred," Matthew called again, going for the living room, and finding Alfred sprawled on the couch, back to them, his arm extended to loosely touch a tall glass of water filled to the brim, set on the table. "There you are," Matthew sighed, walking over to him, and sitting on the other side of the couch, facing Arthur and Francis, who waited worriedly in the doorway.

Arthur was absolutely mortified by what he saw. Even if it was just his back, he could tell that Alfred was not the same as he once knew him. His heart twisted and cried out. The living room was dark, and the television was on mute. The air smelled a bit funny, and everything just seemed so wrong in this picture.

"Alfred, I need to talk to you about something important," Matthew began, putting a hand comfortingly on Alfred's thigh. The only proof of acknowledgement was his gaze, which went from the glass of water, to Matthew. "I want to talk to you about Arthur," he announced slowly, gaze firm.

Alfred didn't react at first, and then painstakingly pulled himself into a sitting position. He seemed to hesitate at first, but then, eyes never leaving Matthew's, he brought the glass of water up to his face and touched his lips to the brim. Matthew winced as the funky smell in the air burned his nostrils, but watched Alfred's movements carefully.

From the doorway, Arthur was watching, too, and the stillness of his picture drew his attention to a large white plastic bottle lying discarded behind the couch. The smell intensified. And Arthur's world stopped for a moment.

"It's bleach," he choked out, mourning the loss of his leg as he lurched forward to stop Alfred from doing something stupid. "It's bleach!"

He didn't make it to Alfred quickly enough to stop him.

But Matthew did.

Years of emergency work had honed his reflexes to a point where he didn't even need to think before acting. Arthur yelled, and he wasn't sure what it was that he yelled, but he immediately swooped the glass out of Alfred's hand, sending it smashing on the table. Alfred let out a small whimper, but Matthew drowned it out, the sound of blood rushing in his ears a lot stronger.

Alfred did not have time to do anything else because Arthur dropped his crutches to the ground and practically tackled him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The Briton cried out in agony as his cast hit the ground, but swallowed the pain and grabbed Alfred's collar instead.

"Alfred F. Jones, what the fuck was that!?" he yelled, shaking him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I know what I wasn't doing!" Alfred yelled back, as far as his raspy voice could take him. Matthew and Francis froze, recognizing it as the first time Alfred had spoken in days. "I wasn't living, that's for sure! I can't do this without him!"

"You won't have to do this without him!" Arthur growled out, positively livid. "You won't have to do this without me."

"You're just another nightmare," Alfred cried out, and choked a sob, letting the first tears run down his face. "Go away! I'll put an end to you, you won't ever haunt me again."

"Alfred, darling, look at me. I'm not a nightmare. I'm real, and I'm here for you," Arthur rasped, his voice choked by emotion. He didn't ever think Alfred would get this bad. "Please..."

"I tried," Alfred insisted, as if he wasn't even talking to Arthur anymore. "I tried so hard to move on and be happy, but he's always there, he's always following me and I can't see him, I can't talk to him, and all I've got are memories of him. I'm sick and tired of having to remember what he felt like! I'll go find him, and I'll never let him go again."

"And I will never let you go, if you stay with me," his boyfriend promised, trying to keep his frustrated, devastated tears at bay.

"You're a phantom, you're not real. Magically coincidental reunions don't happen in real life, and if I can't be reunited with Arthur in this life, then I'll go to the next, damn it," he wiped his tears away, trying to stop crying, but obviously unable to.

"You're going nowhere, my love. You're staying here, with me." Arthur shook his head and wiped the tears off of Alfred's face. The latter just flinched and pulled his face away, and Arthur drew his hand back as if it had been bitten.

"I don't want to stay. I've waited long enough. Let me go to him," Alfred shook his head, sobbing openly. "Let me go to Arthur! I need him! I need him!"

"And I need you, so look at me and promise me you won't ever do anything stupid like that ever again." Alfred refused to turn and look, so Arthur grabbed his face in a slightly aggressive manner and turned it around to glare at him. "Promise me!"

"Promises mean nothing to a dead man!" Alfred screeched, prying Arthur's hand off of him. "Not to Arthur, and not to me."

"Neither of us is dead just yet." Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I may as well be," Alfred whimpered, hiding his face in his hands. "I can't live without him... Arthur, oh god, Arthur, I can't live without you, not anymore..."

"Alfred..." Arthur's breath caught in his throat. "Oh, oh dear god... Alfred, did you have any more bleach before the glass on the table?"

Alfred did not reply, so Arthur, in his panic, shook him again.

"Alfred, tell me if you drank bleach while we were gone. Tell me!"

"I didn't!" Alfred cried out, trying to push Arthur off weakly. "Stop it!"

"Don't lie to me!" Arthur roared, and Alfred collapsed into louder sobs.

"I didn't! I should have! Let me go to him!" he pleaded, sniffling pathetically. Arthur's heart twisted and he held his breath. "I want to go where he goes... I'm so alone, don't you understand? No one can make me feel worth something like he does. No one can ever replace him, or erase the memories I have of him. I love him more than anything, and I won't ever love anyone else, and life without love, without _my_ love, means nothing to me. I want to be with him wherever he is, so please, please, I beg of you, whoever you are, from whichever corner of my imagination you've come, please just let me go to him..."

"But I'm right here." Arthur choked on his words, and he was suddenly aware that it wasn't just Alfred's tears running down his cheeks, but his own as well, falling onto the warm skin of his face and rolling sideways into Alfred's hair. He didn't want to see him cry anymore. He had to save Alfred, no matter what. "And wherever you go, I will follow."

Bending down, Arthur pressed a small, shuddering kiss to Alfred's lips and shut his eyes tightly, unable to pull away.

"If you've lied to me, then we both die," he spoke against his lips, breath shuddering and heavy. "Give me your poison, and we'll both leave this world together. Just as much as you claim to need me, I need you as well, and I would never forgive myself if I let you slip away." Sniffling, Arthur put his forehead against Alfred's and found that he was unable to open his eyes and look at the man he'd sworn to protect. He wasn't worthy of Alfred, after having let him down like this. "Please, darling, come back to me, and let me live. Let yourself live. You've still got so much to live for, this can't be the end. Midnight has passed and the daylight is finally upon us."

But when he finally drew back into a sitting position, he only saw that Alfred had fainted from the shock of seeing his ghosts come to life.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

When Alfred woke, he was in bed, and something felt different in his thought-cluttered head. He felt... lighter? As if something that had been building up inside of him for months now had snapped and had flown out of his system, clearing his veins and giving him the chance to breathe for the first time in forever.

Yet nothing seemed to have changed. Alfred just felt like he'd woken from some kind of nightmare.

Memories rushed back to him, and he rubbed his head, groaning. It was indeed a nightmare, though it was not as bad as some he'd had before. In this one, Arthur actually prevented him from killing himself, and did not just stand by and watch, or just not show up at all. He wondered why the sudden change. He wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, not when everybody that still knew him probably hated him. Every day, he thought up of another way he could end his misery and join his boyfriend wherever people went after death, crossing his fingers for Arthur to be actually dead, and not a reanimated corpse walking alongside a highway, looking for a living human to eat.

So why was he suddenly dreaming of being saved?

Was someone sending him a sign?

Voices filtered into his ears, and Alfred glanced at the door. A second later, Arthur hobbled in on his crutches, swearing at Francis as he closed the door.

So it wasn't a dream after all.

Alfred found it hard to believe, but nothing was easy nowadays. He may as well count his blessings.

"Oh, you're awake," Arthur hummed when he noticed Alfred's silent stare on him. "I hope you had a nice nap. You've been out for a day, you know." Setting his crutches against the wall, he hopped over to Alfred's bed, simultaneously unbuttoning his shirt. Letting himself sag unceremoniously on the corner of the bed, Arthur also unbuttoned his pants, and with a grumble and a wince, pulled them over his legs, minding the cast. Alfred watched him curiously, wondering what he was doing.

The answer came when Arthur pulled the covers up, sliding underneath and nudging Alfred.

"Move a little," he huffed, and Alfred complied silently, still curious. To his surprise, Arthur did nothing but make himself comfortable by his side and close his eyes. Alfred felt slightly uncomfortable, confused by what he was trying. Was this some kind of tactic to get him to speak? Did Arthur forget about how he'd tried to _kill himself_? Alfred felt slightly insulted at how casually Arthur was behaving.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" he rasped out, looking down at the mop of blond hair nestled against his chest. In response, Arthur just hummed a little tune, and Alfred stopped talking, just to hear his boyfriend's voice. He'd always loved Arthur's voice, and nothing would ever take that away from him.

"You looked lonely," the Briton finally sighed, blinking up at his boyfriend with a lazy smile. "I figured I would nap with you, but now you're awake."

"Arthur." It felt so good to say his name. And realize that Arthur really was alive and in his arms. He just didn't understand what he was doing. "Arthur, are you going to pretend nothing happened?"

"No." Arthur looked up at Alfred, smile fading from his face. Alfred suddenly realized how tired and worn he looked, and he felt ashamed for behaving like he was the only one suffering. He wanted to apologize, but couldn't. "I know you tried to kill yourself and some part of me will never forget it. For now, though, I won't bring it up because you don't need the stress."

"Arthur." Alfred's heart skipped a beat. "I tried to kill myself. I looked Matthew in the eye and tried to kill myself. Are you really not going to say anything about it?"

"Well I'm not going to say anything about it. But you sound like you really don't want it to be forgotten," Arthur shrugged, moving his cast a little to get into a more comfortable position for discussion.

"It's not self-pity," Alfred immediately defended himself.

"It's not," Arthur agreed. "If you need to talk about it, darling, know that I will never ever ask you to 'get over it'. Whatever you need to say, just say. Don't let it build up inside of you."

Alfred wouldn't even dream of it. Arthur was back, and even though things would not magically get better overnight, he now had a reason to fight and a reason to live.

"I was scared," Alfred mumbled, averting his eyes. "I was scared, and I felt like nothing would put my mind at ease. I was so confused, I had nothing left in this world. I had Matthew, but after a while, I could see that I was getting on his nerves. I didn't want to be a bother. I've already leeched off of him too much, and I felt like I was doing nothing to help, just making him more miserable every day. He didn't need the extra stress, and stress was all I could provide for him. If nobody, not even my own twin brother needed me anymore, I felt like I had nothing left to do here. I wanted to go somewhere where I could be someone and be loved. I wanted to join mom and dad, my friends from school, my online gaming buddies, and... and you. I thought you were dead, and I couldn't imagine life without the only person who made me feel like I was somebody important."

"Did you think of what your death would do to the people still left around who cared for you?" Arthur did not want to sound like he was accusing Alfred, but he really wanted to know what was going on inside his head. Alfred was not the same person he knew. He was not the person he'd fallen in love with. This didn't mean, though, that he didn't love him. Arthur still loved his boyfriend, with all his heart, but he wanted Alfred to love himself just as much.

"Who's left for me?" Alfred asked in a higher pitched voice, getting closer and closer to hysterics. He didn't want Arthur to hate him. The same fear he'd felt for months was resurfacing. Perhaps this really was another nightmare. "Matthew is the only one who still cares about me. Matthew, and maybe Francis a little, but asides for you three, I don't know anyone anymore. Mattie and Francis would have mourned, Mattie would have cried for a long time, but in the end, both of them would have been happier without me. Mattie is working so hard to buy my pills and he's getting so frustrated with my attitude, so he'd definitely be happier if I weren't around in the first place."

"Alfred..." Arthur whispered, a ball clogging up his throat. "Your brother went through so much to find me and bring me to you. I can't even pretend to know him as well as you do, but he loves you with all his heart, and he just wants you to get better."

"To get better or to die," Alfred protested, the weight on his heart growing. "There's nobody left for me in this wretched world. Everyone I love is dead. I can't see a future for myself, not anymore. I feel like I'm just another casualty in the apocalypse and would be just another number in history books if I did die."

"Was," Arthur just whispered. "Everything is in the past now. If you still think that everyone who loves you is dead, then you need to get your eyes checked. You can see a future for yourself, Alfred, I know you can. You're a bright ball of sunshine, you'll make it."

"I'm a shattered mess, Arthur, I'm dying."

Arthur did not reply for a long while, idly drawing circles in the fabric of Alfred's pyjama top. He wasn't sure how to reply. He wasn't sure if he could reply at all. Could anything he said make Alfred feel better at this point?

"You may be a shattered mess, but I know that you can pull yourself back together in time," he finally mumbled, looking up into Alfred's eyes and smiling sadly. "You've got a will of steel, darling, and that's what makes you so strong." He brought his hand up and caressed Alfred's cheek. "I'll do anything in my power to help you put yourself together, and you can count on Matthew, and even Francis, to help you should you need anything. You just have to promise me one thing, Alfred. Just one thing." The atmosphere seemed to get heavier, and Arthur's gaze seemed worried. Alfred's heart clenched. "Just promise me that you will never ever try to kill yourself again. Suicide is not the answer and never will be. There is no reason for you to die, not when you and I and everyone else you care about can be happy now."

"I'm still scared," Alfred admitted, averting his eyes in shame. "It's the same fear that's been haunting me for so long."

"I'll protect you even if you choose not to tell me what this fear is," Arthur promised in a whisper, a shiver running across his arms. "I love you. I just want you to be alright."

"I'm scared of that," Alfred choked on his words, and closed his mouth, unable to continue. Adjusting himself, Arthur wiggled up, minding his cast, until he had Alfred's face at collarbone level. Then, gingerly, he pulled him closer, setting his chin on top of his head.

"You're scared of my love?" he asked, confused, but willing to try and understand.

"I'm scared of losing it," Alfred sighed in a shudder, closing his eyes and enjoying the heat of Arthur's skin against his. "I'm not the same person you fell in love with. Look at me. You can't say you like me when I'm like this. But I still love you, and I don't think I could live if I didn't have that one reassurance that someone loves me. I feel so alone, Arthur, and I can't imagine life without you. I don't think I'd ever be alright if I lost you."

"You won't lose me," Arthur whispered into his hair, grip tightening on his boyfriend. "I'm going to stay."

"I am disgusting," Alfred whispered back, ashamed of himself.

"You are beautiful," Arthur immediately countered, kissing the top of his head.

"But I'm not who you think I am, not anymore," Alfred sniffled, hiding his embarrassed tears behind his hands.

"Darling, I know you've changed, and I know why you've changed, but I haven't yet learned the extent of how you've changed. In order to help you return to who you once were, I still need to learn that."

"Whoever said I'll be back to what I used to be?" Alfred's voice trembled with such hopelessness that it tugged at Arthur's heartstrings. "Maybe I'm broken for good."

"No, because I believe that you are still you deep inside. I fell in love with someone, and I never expected for that someone to stay the same forever. I want them to stay forever, though, and I can't guarantee that for you if you don't beat this depression." Arthur pried Alfred's hands away from his face and kissed the knuckles tenderly. "I'll stay, but it won't do if you don't."

"Why are you doing this for me? I don't deserve any of this," Alfred choked up, briefly glancing up into Arthur's eyes before turning his gaze away in shame. "I've only been a burden these past few months. I was hopeless, inactive, dependent, whiny and a crybaby."

"But I know you're strong, and I know that you have been forced to be strong for too long." Arthur drew Alfred into his arms and pressed him firmly against his chest to let Alfred hear his heartbeat going absolutely mad for him. "You are strong, and I love you more than ever."

Alfred tried not to, but in the end, he cried until he fainted from exhaustion in Arthur's arms.

_...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._

Two months later, Arthur was issued his arbitrary citizenship and set out to find a job. With the apocalypse now on the decline, he had the choice to pick a job that dealt with death, or new life. Since Alfred pleaded for him not to go in the militia and go out to take care of the dead still roaming the Earth, Arthur decided to take care of new life instead and became an elementary school teacher for all the kids that the Fortress-City governments encouraged to procreate. He wasn't sure if his Master's degree in Literature was meant to land him a position like this, but he figured it was just for a little while, until they could all get back up on their feet.

It was not easy, and all three workers in the Williams-Jones household were paid too low compared to what the pre-apocalypse society would have considered as acceptable. They had to make do with the times, though, and never complained when they went to work in the morning. Matthew got more acceptable shifts, which did wonders for his blood pressure, and could finally come home without having to work outrageously long and stressful shifts at the hospital.

Alfred took about a month to completely be up on his feet again, but fought the depression in his mind for a long time afterward. All three of his companions were supportive of him and he felt a lot better about waking up every day and making them breakfast, then spending the day tidying up the house and taking care of household accounting. It felt just like before, plus the fact that Arthur was now around for him to greet with a smile and a kiss every evening.

About a year after Arthur resurfaced, in June, Alfred and Arthur had a small celebration for their fourth-year anniversary, and Francis baked a cake for the occasion. The four of them spent a nice, sunny Saturday outside, borrowing the owner's garden to play with the water hose like little children, and smudging frosting on Alfred's and Arthur's faces when the cake came out. After eating the cake, they laid out to dry and talked and talked until the sun began to show signs of sinking.

"It's time for presents, I believe," Francis suddenly announced once they got a small pause in the conversation, jumping off the lawn chair and heading for the shed, from which he pulled a small box wrapped in Christmas wrapping, obviously leftovers from a long time ago. Alfred laughed and took it with a grateful smile, putting it between Arthur and himself.

"Do we open it now?" he asked, giddy.

"I fear for what's inside," Arthur winced amusedly.

"Go ahead, Alfred," Francis grinned, and both of them suddenly knew what it wouldn't be something they expected.

"Alrighty then. Help me out, Artie," Alfred chuckled, and began ripping the paper off.

Arthur half-heartedly helped in opening the gift, and blanched when Alfred pulled out a small orange packet from the bottom of the box. He'd known it.

"It tastes like mango, apparently," Alfred snickered, waving the condom in Arthur's face, to which Arthur replied by slapping the packet out of his hand.

"That's improper, don't do that!" he blushed, glaring at Francis. "What the hell kind of gift is this, frog!?"

"The practical kind," Francis winked mischievously. Even Matthew had a shit-eating grin on his face and the couple did not like the look of it.

"Oh, look! Vanilla-scented lube. And are these glow in the dark? Cool!" Alfred exclaimed, pulling out a bunch of things from the bottom of the box and shoving them in Arthur's face. "Isn't this neat?"

"God damn it, Alfred, it's not neat, i-it's inappropriate!" Arthur stammered, pushing everything back in the box and confiscating it so that Alfred couldn't embarrass both of them further.

'You're such a prude," Alfred huffed, pinching Arthur's cheek.

"And you're a shameless git," Arthur replied, swatting the hand away.

"Well, my gift to you is just as practical," Matthew hummed, shooting Francis an accomplice grin. "Francis and I are going out tonight and we'll be back very early in the morning.

"Oh god," Arthur hid his face in his hands, embarrassed out of his wits. "All of you are so inappropriate, I can't believe you are all adults."

"You're an old man, Artie. Relax. It's our four years today. Let's celebrate!" Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur's burning cheek. "You're such a party pooper."

Arthur did not reply and turned his head away, still blushing.

"Alright, well, I've got a gift for us," Alfred jumped off his seat and went by Matthew, grinning at him. "Mattie's been holding onto it for me, so Mattie, if you please."

"Of course, Al," Matthew grinned even brighter, and pulled a birthday-bag stuffed with silk paper out from under his chair. "Here you go."

Arthur feared the knowing grin that the twins shared and threw Francis a worried look. Francis just smiled and shrugged, his expression saying nothing.

"If it's a McDonald's gift card, I will never forgive you," he grumbled, trying to lighten the sudden stress that had gripped his heart.

"Nah, it's even better. I know you'll love it," Alfred assured him, bumping knuckles with his twin before sliding over to Arthur's side and handing him the party bag. "Let's open it together."

"It won't make much sense if you're the one who bought it in the first place," Arthur grumbled, but took the bag nonetheless.

"Well, I think we'll both be able to profit from it," Alfred hummed in excitement, his heart beating harshly in his chest as Arthur gripped the silk paper and froze.

"I hope it's not anything along the lines of... that," he nudged his head at the innocent-looking box that was now lying on Alfred's chair.

"Even better," Alfred assured him, and suddenly, he could not wait anymore. His stomach was coiling uncomfortably. "Just open it, on three, alright?" And he gripped the other side of the silk paper, and took a deep breath. "One, two... three."

They pulled, and Arthur reached in to pull out a small navy blue box.

"What the-" but he froze, noticing the little lock at the front, and shakily looked to his side. Alfred was not sitting by him anymore, but had gotten down to one knee in front of him. Arthur's mind whirred and he immediately knew what this was. "Al?"

"Open it," Alfred encouraged him, looking up into Arthur's wide eyes comfortingly.

"This better not be..." Arthur shakily put his hand on the lock and flicked it sideways. The box loosened, and his hands were visibly quaking as he pulled the lid up to expose the small silver band wedged in a cushion. "Oh god-"

"Surprise," Alfred chuckled, trying to look cool even though he was practically hyperventilating with nervousness on the inside.

"Y-You bloody idiot!" Arthur tried to yell, but all that came out was an embarrassing choke and a dry sob. Tears begged to be let free and Arthur wiped them away before they could fall.

"So I was meaning to ask, Artie," Alfred swallowed hard, and threw a nervous look to Matthew, who was standing by Francis' side, and who gave him a thumbs up. He turned back to the Briton and smiled up at him even though Arthur's tears were getting to him. "Do you maybe want to get married?"

"That's not the proper way to ask," Arthur sobbed out, hiding his face in his arm.

"Well that's all you're gonna get. We're far from proper, we're far from traditional, and we're unique, so I figured that this was the best way." Alfred gulped down nervously. "Unless you really want me to start from the top again?"

"No, no, it's wonderful," Arthur sighed out in a shudder, and tore his arm away from his eyes to look at Alfred. "But..."

"But?" Alfred's throat went dry, and he tensed.

"I wanted to be the one to, uhh... propose," Arthur sniffled. "I was going to... save up and all that..."

"I figured this was the best time to spend the money I got while in the militia. Mattie and Francis helped me out. I wanted to do this today because, well, four years ago, I met you and you gave me something that I'll always try to repay without ever reaching the value of what you've given me. It was your heart."

"So much for me having a degree in literature," Arthur laughed shakily and wiped his tears away. "But... I wanted to surprise you and make up for all the time I was missing and had you so worried about me."

"And I wanted to do it because I want to prove to you that I'll always be there for you," Alfred chuckled, and his throat locked up. "Besides, I... I didn't want to cry anymore. I've done enough crying for a lifetime."

"You're an idiot!" Arthur accused again and cradled the box to his heart. "I can't be the only one who will cry."

"Okay." Alfred tried to smile and his smile fell into a forced grin weighed down by tears. "S-so... Arthur, do you wanna make me the happiest guy on this planet and marry me?"

"How would you ever even doubt that I'd say no?" Arthur wiped his eyes and smiled brightly through the tears. "Of course I'll marry you, Alfred F Jones. I'll marry you, I'll love you, and I'll smack you if you ever do something like this again."

"Great," Alfred sniffled, feeling his own tears well up. "That's great. That's awesome!" He laughed and rose up, pulling Arthur to his feet and taking the little box to pull the ring out and slip it on Arthur's trembling finger. "Thank you."

And that's when Alfred gave up and let the tears run down his face, grinning.

"Thank you so much," he hiccuped, and took Arthur's hand in his own, bringing it up to kiss the ring finger. "I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without you. Thank you so much for being there for me all the time and supporting me and helping me out without hesitation. I wouldn't ever ask you to change." He let out a sob and drew Arthur into a hug that was immediately returned. "You've never given up on me even when I gave up on myself and you put your life at risk for me. You've given me so much and I want to give you just as much. I promise you, Arthur, I promise you that I'll make you the happiest man on Earth, too."

"I already am," Arthur croaked out and lifted his head to look into Alfred's teary eyes. "I already am."

Alfred kissed him, and Arthur knew that something beautiful had been reborn out of the ashes of their lives.

The evening's and the night's happenings wore both of them out, and the new fiancés fell asleep together in Alfred's bed. Arthur promised to buy Alfred a ring as soon as possible, but the Williams-Jones household's finances were not through the roof, and Alfred knew he'd have to wait. He didn't mind. He didn't go out as much as Arthur so he didn't need to show off to the world what a beautiful man he would marry.

Of course, that wouldn't be very smart either, considering that procreation was being encouraged and that gay couples were viewed as being useless to society. To avoid that, Alfred and Arthur agreed to donate sperm, but left it at that. Neither of them were even remotely ready to have a kid, and such a serious discussion would have to be done after they got married, found steady, better paying jobs and moved into an apartment of their own. They considered moving out of Montreal, but it was way too early to even think of leaving the safety of the Fortress-City.

Things were finally looking up for them, Alfred thought as he carded his fingers through Arthur's hair while he slept. He still sometimes had reoccurring nightmares of the worst parts of his post-apocalyptic life, but when he woke up in cold sweat, unable to go back to sleep, Arthur was always there to remind him that he was safe and sound and happy now.

Dawn had broken out and had pushed the night out of the way, early sunlight filtering in through the halfway-shut blinds. In an hour, Matthew would wake up to take a shower and make breakfast, and the noise would wake Francis, too. When Alfred moved to get out of bed, Arthur would be woken by the movement and would drag him back for a few minutes of silent cuddling before starting the day.

It was still too early to wake and get on with their usual routine, but Alfred never tired of admiring his fiancée's serene face. He still could not understand why such a perfect man had chosen him, but he wasn't complaining. Arthur was radiant and all that Alfred could ever ask for.

To his surprise, Arthur actually stirred under his ministrations, unlike all the times he'd stayed motionless like a still doll, porcelain skin under Alfred's touch, leaving him breathless. Arthur never ceased to make Alfred feel so wanted, so loved. His heart swelled as Arthur took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly, shifting so that his hair splayed around his head like a golden halo. Alfred shivered in delight, running a hand on one of Arthur's soft cheeks and watching the perfect skin dip under his touch.

His heart fluttered as Arthur sighed and smiled in his sleep, slowly drawing out of dreamland and into a reality that was not as perfect, but that had its moments, such as these. No sweet dreams, no ideal fantasy could ever rival these picture-perfect snapshots. Alfred's life had become so bright since Arthur had stepped into it. Everything looked so much better now that Arthur was by his side.

"Al..." Arthur called out softly in his sleep, and a shy smile fluttered on his face. White light filtered in and kissed his skin, his eyelashes quivering as he slowly awoke to the gentle caress of his lover's fingers. Alfred forgot to breathe for a second, and the radiant image froze in time just long enough for him to fall in love with Arthur all over again.

Alfred finally exhaled, and the painting came to life. Arthur's eyelids slowly opened, and his bright gaze fell onto Alfred's gently parted lips. A smile dawned upon his face and it quickly spread to his lover, who entwined their fingers and ran his thumb over Arthur's cheek, never getting enough of him.

Arthur looked at Alfred and smiled, silently greeting him and wishing him a great new beginning. His eyes shone and sparkled in the daylight.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**Daylight is used in a lot of different senses, including symbolic ones. Don't always take things as they are o3o**

**I did some research on depression and sicknesses that could come from eating nothing but beans for months, but it wasn't much, so of course, if I did something wrong, please point it out. **

**Also, I especially like the lexical field for the last few paragraphs, and the chapter had its fair share of intense moments as well. I'm crossing my fingers for you guys to have felt the same emotion I felt during these passages :'D**

**WELL THEN! That's over with =w= It was fun. Zombie!AUs are easily one of my favourite ones, even though this was a lot more romance than zombies. There are a couple of The Walking Dead references here again, so you can try your luck with that if you want.**

**If not, I just want to thank you all for sticking with me, and I really really appreciate your support! Thank you so very much for reading, and of course, please feel free (and you are encouraged!) to leave a review, whatever the review is about! I always enjoy getting your thoughts so that I can become better :D So thank you for reading, and please review!**

**~No Pain No Gain**


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